mad. I have seen you now; I know that you are happy; I read your
cousin's love and see a peaceful life in store for you. This must
content me, and I must learn to bear it as I can."

She paused, breathless and pale, and walked rapidly along the terrace,
as if to hide or control the agitation that possessed her.

Treherne still sat silent, but his heart leaped within him, as he
thought, "She sees that Octavia loves me! A woman's eye is quick to
detect love in another, and she asserts what I begin to hope. My
cousin's manner just now, her dislike of Annon, her new shyness with me;
it may be true, and if it is--Heaven help me--what am I saying! I must
not hope, nor wish, nor dream; I must renounce and forget."

He leaned his head upon his hand, and sat so still Mrs. Snowdon rejoined
him, pale, but calm and self-possessed. As she drew near, she marked his
attitude, the bitter sadness of his face, and hope sprang up within her.
Perhaps she was mistaken; perhaps he did not love his cousin; perhaps he
still remembered the past, and still regretted the loss of the heart she
had just laid bare before him. Her husband was failing, and might die
any day. And then, free, rich, beautiful, and young, what might she not
become to Treherne, helpless, poor, and ambitious? With all her faults,
she was generous, and this picture charmed her fancy, warmed her heart,
and comforted her pain.

"Maurice," she said softly, pausing again beside him, "if I mistake you
and your hopes, it is because I dare ask nothing for myself; but if ever
a time shall come when I have liberty to give or help, ask of me
_anything_, and it is gladly yours."