t, had he persisted, he would perhaps have seen the spectacle
of Lucy incensed: not all that was grand, or good, or kind in him (and
Lucy felt the full amount) should have kept her quite tame, or
absolutely inoffensive and shadowlike. He looked, but he desisted. He
shook his handsome head, but he was mute. He resumed his seat, nor did
he again turn or disturb me by a glance, except indeed for one single
instant, when a look, rather solicitous than curious, stole my
way--speaking what somehow stilled my heart like "the south-wind
quieting the earth." Graham's thoughts of me were not entirely those of
a frozen indifference, after all. I believe in that goodly mansion, his
heart, he kept one little place under the sky-lights where Lucy might
have entertainment, if she chose to call. It was not so handsome as the
chambers where he lodged his male friends; it was not like the hall
where he accommodated his philanthropy, or the library where he
treasured his science, still less did it resemble the pavilion where
his marriage feast was splendidly spread; yet, gradually, by long and
equal kindness, he proved to me that he kept one little closet, over
the door of which was written "Lucy's Room." I kept a place for him,
too--a place of which I never took the measure, either by rule or
compass: I think it was like the tent of Peri-Banou. All my life long I
carried it folded in the hollow of my hand yet, released from that hold
and constriction, I know not but its innate capacity for expanse might
have magnified it into a tabernacle for a host.

Forbearing as he was to-night, I could not stay in this proximity; this
dangerous place and seat must be given up: I watched my opportunity,
rose, and stole away. He might think, he might even believe that Lucy
was contained within that shawl, and sheltered under that hat; he never
could be certain, for he did not see my face.

Surely the spirit of restlessness was by this time appeased? Had I not
had enough of adventure? Did I not begin to flag, quail, and wish for
safety under a roof? Not so. I still loathed my bed in the school
dormitory more than words can express: I clung to whatever could
distract thought. Somehow I felt, too, that the night's drama was but
begun, that the prologue was scarce spoken: throughout this woody and
turfy theatre reigned a shadow of mystery; actors and incidents
unlooked-for, waited behind the scenes: I thought so foreboding told me
as much.

Straying at