sy Van der Horn and a number of other friends just
leaving after a merry dinner in a private room. They greeted him with
fervor. Where had he been? And would not he dress quickly and come on to
supper with them?

"Why, you look as glum as an owl, Michael Arranstoun!" Miss Van der Horn
herself informed him. "Just you hustle and put on your evening things,
and we'll make you feel a new man."

And with the most supreme insolence, before them all he bent down and
kissed both her hands--while his blue eyes blazed with devilment as he
answered:

"I will join you in half an hour--but if you pull me out of bed like
this, you will have to make a night of it with me. You shan't go home at
all!"

CHAPTER XIII

A whole month went by, and after the storm peace seemed to cover
Heronac. Sabine gardened with Pere Anselme, and listened to his kindly,
shrewd common sense, and then they read poetry in the afternoons when
tea was over. They read Beranger, Francois Villon, Victor Hugo, and
every now and then they even dashed into de Musset!

The good Father felt more easy in his mind. After all, his impressions
of Lord Fordyce's character had been very high, and he was not apt to
make mistakes in people--perhaps le bon Dieu meant to make an exception
in favor of the beloved Dame d'Heronac, and to find divorce a good
thing! Sabine had heard from Mr. Parsons that the negotiations had
commenced. It would be some time, though, before she could be free. She
must formally refuse to return when the demand asking her to do so
should come. This she was prepared to carry out. She firmly and
determinedly banished all thought of Michael from her mind, and hardly
ever went into the garden summer-house--because, when she did, she saw
him too plainly standing there in his white flannels, with the sprig of
her lavender in his coat and his bold blue eyes looking up at her with
their horribly powerful charm. The force of will can do such wonders
that, as the days went on, the pain and unrest of her hours lessened in
a great degree.

Every morning there came an adoring letter from Henry, in which he never
said too much or too little, but everything that could excite her
cultivated intelligence and refresh her soul. In all the after years of
her life, whatever might befall her, these letters of Henry's would have
a lasting influence upon her. They polished and moulded her taste; and
put her on her mettle to answer them, and gradually they grew