eel him as something
wonderful and radiant filling the dismal day, filling her dismal heart,
with its presence. But the shock still so trembled in her that she did
not move from her place or speak, leaning back upon the window as she
looked at him,--for he was very near,--and putting her hands upon the
window-sill on either side. "You didn't expect to see me, did you," Sir
Hugh said.

She shook her head. Never, never, in all these years, had he come again,
so soon. Months, always, sometimes years, had elapsed between his
visits.

"The last time didn't count, did it," he went on, in speech vague and
desultory yet, at the same time, intent and bright in look. "I was so
bothered; I behaved like a selfish brute; I'm sure you felt it. And you
were so particularly kind and good--and dear to me, Amabel."

She felt herself flushing. He stood so near that she could not move
forward and he must read the face, amazed, perplexed, incredulous of its
joy, yet all lighted from his presence, that she kept fixed on him. For
ah, what joy to see him, to feel that here, here alone of all the world,
was she safe, consoled, known yet cared for. He who understood all as no
one else in the world understood, could stand and smile at her like
that.

"You look thin, and pale, and tired," were his next words. "What have
you been doing to yourself? Isn't Augustine here? You're not alone?"

"Yes; I am alone. Augustine is staying with the Wallace boy."

With the mention of Augustine the dark memory came, but it was now of
something dangerous and hostile shut away, yes, safely shut away, by
this encompassing brightness, this sweetness of intent solicitude. She
no longer yearned to see Augustine.

Sir Hugh looked at her for some moments, when, she said that she was
alone, without speaking. "That is nice for me," he then said. "But how
miserable,--for you,--it must have been. What a shame that you should
have been left alone in this dull place,--and this wretched weather,
too!--Did you ever see such weather." He looked past her at the rain.

"It has been wretched," said Amabel; but she spoke, as she felt, in the
past: nothing seemed wretched now.

"And you were staring out so hard, that you never heard me," He came
beside her now, as if to look out, too, and, making room for him, she
also turned and they looked out at the rain together.

"A filthy day," said Sir Hugh, "I can't bear to think that this is what
you have been doing, all alone."