with scarcely so much as her profile turned toward him. A cluster was in
her left hand; in her right a stem just broken off, holding a rose and
several buds. She was perfectly still, seeming to have forgotten to
move, to be lost in reverie. She saw him no more than her roses; she was
alone with her thoughts. There was a strength and a sadness in the
delicate outline, especially in the mouth, which he had not seen before,
perhaps, because he had never studied her profile. As he had thought of
this expression while he had stood before the uncovered portrait, he had
said to himself that certainly she had not been willingly concerned in
helping forward another's misfortune. While he sat watching her he had
been inclined to go to her, obeying his impulse rather than his
judgment, which told him that even if he were in any way the cause of
her sorrow, he could do nothing to help her. But Lady Dacre had spoken
to him at the moment, and before he could answer her he had seen a
servant go up to Elizabeth, and had perceived that she was coming into
the house.

This morning also it was Lady Dacre's voice that broke in upon him. She
was hurrying through the hall with eyes on the open door.

"Good morning," she said. "Has Madam Archdale gone into the garden yet?
I told her I should be there first this morning, and now she has stolen
a march upon me." Archdale was startled. Yes, his mother was in the
garden, he saw her now. Was the other only a vision? "Will you follow,
Temple?" cried her ladyship. Her husband, who had been coming down
stairs as his wife spoke, greeted Archdale hastily and accepted her
invitation, for some one else stood in the hall, having entered it, his
observer supposed, from the library, for he had not seen him on the
stairs. This other one was coming forward to his host when Sir Temple
passed, and in another moment he stood face to face with Archdale.