ould be a
proposal to share it for the night, the young girl hurriedly
volunteered to re-conduct her to her own apartment.

Half way down the passage they had to pass the door of the picture
gallery, which was ajar, disclosing light within. At the sight of
Rupert standing with his back to them, looking fixedly at the picture
upon the opposite wall, Sophia promptly thought better of the scream
she was preparing, and seized her cousin by the arm.

"Come away, come away," she whispered, "he will be much displeased if
he sees us."

Madeleine allowed herself to be pulled onward, but remembering Molly's
previous encounter upon the same spot, was curious enough to demand an
explanation of Rupert's nocturnal rambles when they had reached the
haven of Sophia's bedroom. It was very simple, but it struck her as
exceedingly pathetic and confirmed her in her opinion of the
unreasonableness of her sister's dislike to Rupert.

He was gazing at his dead wife's picture. He could not bear, Sophia
said, for any one to find him there; could not bear the smallest
allusion to his grief, but at night, as she had herself discovered
quite by accident, he would often spend long spells as they had just
seen him.

There was something in Madeleine's own nature, a susceptible proud
reserve which made this trait in her cousin's character thoroughly
congenial; moreover, what woman is not drawn with pity towards the man
who can so mourn a woman.

She met him therefore, the next day, with a softness, almost a
tenderness, of look and smile which roused his highest hopes. And when
he proposed, after breakfast, that they should profit by the mild
weather to stroll in the garden while Sophia was busy in the house,
she willingly consented.

Up the gravel paths, between the gooseberry bushes, to the violet beds
they went. It was one of those balmy days that come sometimes in early
spring and encourage all sorts of false hopes in the hearts of men and
vegetables. "A growing day," the farmers call them; indeed, at such
times you may almost hear the swelling and the bursting of the buds,
the rising of the sap, the throbbing and pushing of the young green
life all around.

Madeleine grew hot with the weight of her fur tippet, the pale face
under the plumy hat took an unusual pink bloom; her eyes shone with a
moist radiance. Rupert, glancing up at her, as, bent upon one knee, he
sought for stray violets amid the thick green leaves, thought it was
thus