in the vicinity of the house, and returned every few minutes, to see if
her blind were not drawn up. Finally, he sat down at one of the tables
on the terrace, where he had her window in sight. Towards six o'clock,
his patience was exhausted; going upstairs, he listened outside the
door of her room. Not a sound. With infinite precaution, he turned the
handle, and looked in.

She was lying just as he had left her, fast asleep. Her head was a
little on one side; her left hand was under her cheek, her right lay
palm upwards on the rug that covered her. Maurice sat down in the
arm-chair.

At first, he looked furtively, afraid of disturbing her; then more
openly, in the hope that she would waken. Sitting thus, and thinking
over the miracle that had happened to him, he now sought to find
something in her face for him alone, which had previously not been
there. But his thoughts wandered as he gazed. How he loved it!--this
face of hers. He was invariably worked on afresh by the blackness of
the lustreless hair; by the pale, imperious mouth; by the dead white
pallor of the skin, which shaded to a dusky cream in the curves of neck
and throat, and in the lines beneath the eyes was of a bluish brown.
Now the lashes lay in these encircling rings. Without doubt, it was the
eyes that supplied life to the face: only when they were open, and the
lips parted over the strong teeth, was it possible to realise how
intense a vitality was latent in her. But his love would wipe out the
last trace of this wan tiredness. He would be infinitely careful of
her: he would shield her from the impulsiveness of her own nature; she
should never have cause to regret what she had done. And the affection
that bound them would day by day grow stronger. All his work, all his
thoughts, should belong to her alone; she would be his beloved wife;
and through him she would learn what love really was.

He rose and stood over her, longing to share his feelings with her. But
she remained sunk in her placid sleep, and as he stood, he became
conscious of a different sensation. He had never seen her face--except
convulsed by weeping--when it was not under full control. Was it
because he had stared so long at it, or was it really changed in sleep?
There was something about it, at this moment, which he could not
explain: it almost looked less fine. The mouth was not so proudly
reticent as he had believed it to be; there was even a want of
restraint about it; and the