was unseemly that a stranger like herself should behold, himself
unknowing of her near presence.

She gently rose from her corner, wondering if she could retire from her
retreat without attracting his observation; but as she did so, chance
caused him to withdraw himself a little farther within the shadow of the
screen, and doing so, he beheld her.

Then his face changed; the mask of noble calmness, for a moment fallen,
resumed itself, and he bowed before her with the reverence of a courtly
gentleman, undisturbed by the unexpectedness of his recognition of her
neighbourhood.

"Madam," he said, "pardon my unconsciousness that you were near me. You
would pass?" And he made way for her.

She curtseyed, asking his pardon with her dull, soft eyes.

"Sir," she answered, "I but retired here for a moment's rest from the
throng and gaiety, to which I am unaccustomed. But chiefly I sat in
retirement that I might watch--my sister."

"Your sister, madam?" he said, as if the questioning echo were almost
involuntary, and he bowed again in some apology.

"My Lady Dunstanwolde," she replied. "I take such pleasure in her
loveliness and in all that pertains to her, it is a happiness to me to
but look on."

Whatsoever the thing was in her loving mood which touched him and found