the veranda with slow and meditative steps.




CHAPTER IX.


The following morning was warm and springlike, and Arthur was
sufficiently strong and well to walk out a little in the open air. He
had been seated upon the veranda conversing with Beverly and Harold,
when the latter proposed a stroll with Beverly, with whom he wished to
converse in relation to his proposed marriage. As the beams of the
unclouded sun had already chased away the morning dew, and the air was
warm and balmy, Arthur walked out into the garden and breathed the
freshness of the atmosphere with the exhilaration of a convalescent
freed for the first time from the sick-room. Accidentally, or by
instinct, he turned his steps to the little grove which he knew was
Oriana's favorite haunt; and there, indeed, she sat, upon the rustic
bench, above which the drooping limbs of the willow formed a leafy
canopy. The pensive girl, her white hand, on which she leaned, buried
among the raven tresses, was gazing fixedly into the depths of the
clear sky, as if she sought to penetrate that azure veil, and find some
hope realized among the mysteries of the space beyond. The neglected
volume had fallen from her lap, and lay among the bluebells at her feet.
Arthur's feeble steps were unheard upon the sward, and he had taken his
seat beside her, before, conscious of an intruder, she started from her
dream.

"The first pilgrimage of my convalescence is to your bower, my gentle