CHAPTER VI.


As we drew near the house on our return, the first dinner-bell was
ringing.

"We have twenty minutes yet," said Lance; "you will just have time to
say a few words to Frances; she is sure to be in the drawing-room."

We went there. When the door was opened I saw a magnificent room--long,
lofty and bright, so cheerful and light--with such beautiful furniture,
and such superb hangings of white and gold. I was struck as I had never
been by any room before. The long French windows, opening like glass
doors, looked over a superb flower-garden, where flowers of every hue
were now in blossom.

The room was full of sunlight; it faced the west, and the sun was
setting. For a few moments my eyes were dazzled; then as the golden haze
cleared, I saw a tall figure at the other end of the room, a beautiful
figure, dressed in a long robe of blue, with a crown of golden brown
hair; when she turned suddenly to us, I saw that she carried some sprays
of white hawthorn in her hand. At first my attention was concentrated on
the golden hair, the blue dress, the white flowers; then slowly, as
though following some irresistible magnetic attraction, my eyes were
raised to her face, and remained fixed there. I have wondered a thousand
times since how it was that no cry escaped my lips--how it was that none
of the cold, sick horror that filled my whole heart and soul did not