ll; though because they were so sunken,
and because poisonous roots can flower most deceivingly, he neither called
himself nor was called of others a proud and willful man. He wished Evelyn
for his wife; nay, more, though on May Day he had shown her that he loved
her not, though in June he had offered her a love that was only admiring
affection, yet in the past month at Westover he had come almost to believe
that he loved her truly. That she was worthy of true love he knew very
well. With all his strength of will, he had elected to forget the summer
that lay behind him at Fair View, and to live in the summer that was with
him at Westover. His success had been gratifying; in the flush of it, he
persuaded himself that a chamber of the heart had been locked forever, and
the key thrown away. And lo now! a touch, the sudden sight of a name, and
the door had flown wide; nay, the very walls were rived away! It was not a
glance over the shoulder; it was full presence in the room so lately
sealed.

He knew that Evelyn loved him. It was understood of all their acquaintance
that he was her suitor; months ago he had formally craved her father's
permission to pay his addresses. There were times in those weeks at
Westover when she had come nigh to yielding, to believing that he loved
her; he was certain that with time he would have his way.... But the room,
the closed room, in which now he sat!

He buried his face in his hands, and was suddenly back in spirit in his
garden at Fair View. The cherries were ripe; the birds were singing: great
butterflies went by. The sunshine beat on the dial, on the walks, and the
smell of the roses was strong as wine. His senses swam with the warmth and
fragrance; the garden enlarged itself, and blazed in beauty. Never was
sunshine so golden as that; never were roses so large, never odors so
potent-sweet. A spirit walked in the garden paths: its name was Audrey....
No, it was speaking, speaking words of passion and of woe.... Its name was
Eloisa!

When he rose from his chair, he staggered slightly, and put his hand to
his head. Recovering himself in a moment, he called for his hat and cane,
and, leaving the ordinary, turned his face toward the Palace. A garrulous
fellow Councilor, also bidden to his Excellency's dinner party, overtook
him, and, falling into step, began to speak first of the pirates' trial,
and then of the weather. A hot and feverish summer. 'Twas said that a good
third of the servan