* * * * *
He made her come out with him before luncheon; he talked with her of
politics and their future; he did his best to scatter the nightmare in
which she moved.
But after awhile he felt his efforts fail. The scenes that held her mind
betrayed themselves in her recurrent pallor, the trembling of her hand
in his, her piteous, sudden looks. She did not talk of her mother, but
he could not presently rouse her to talk of anything else; she sat
silent in her chair, gazing before her, her slender hands on her knee,
dreaming and forlorn.
Then he remembered, and with involuntary relief, that he must get back
to town, and to the House, for an important division. He told her, and
she made no protest. Evidently she was already absorbed in the thought
of Sir James Chide's visit. But when the time came for him to go she let
herself be kissed, and then, as he was moving away, she caught his hand,
and held it wildly to her lips.
"Oh, if you hadn't come!--if you hadn't come!" Her tears fell on the
hand.
"But I did come!" he said, caressing her. "I was here last night--did
Mrs. Colwood tell you? Afterward--in the dark--I walked up to the hill,
only to look down upon this house, that held you.
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