lung to him, or was it only fancy?--but had
left him without a word of thanks, had allowed him to wait there, and
then had waved her hand to him just as she had seen Jessie, the maid,
wave her hand to her "young man" after they had parted, and she was
going into the house.

She bit her lip softly and a faint flush rose to the clear pallor of
the lovely, girlish face reflected in the glass. Yes, she had behaved
just like a servant-maid, she who in her heart of hearts knew that she
prided herself upon her dignity and the good manners which should
belong to a Heron of Herondale. It was characteristic of her that while
she thought of his conduct and what she considered her bad behaviour,
she gave no thought to the fact that the stranger who had so "intruded"
was singularly handsome and possessed of that strange quality which at
once impresses women. Most girls would have remembered the fact, but
Ida was different to the general run of her sex. She had been brought
up in an out-of-the-way place in which the modern novel, the
fashionable pastime of flirtation, were not known; and her secluded
life in the lonely dale had deepened that sense of aloofness from the
world, that indifference to the sentiment which lurks in most girls'
bosoms. This tall, handsome man who had stepped into her life and
shared the secret of her father's strange affliction, weakness, was
nothing more to her than one of the other tourists whom she sometimes
chanced to see on her lonely rides and walks.

When she had undressed she went again to her father's door and listened
to his deep and regular breathing; then, at last, she went to bed; but
the sense of loneliness was so intense that she lay awake for hours
thinking of that bent figure walking in its sleep from the shadows of
the ruined chapel. For the future she would have to watch her father
closely, would perhaps have to lock the door of his room. Why had he
gone to the chapel? So far as she knew he was not in the habit of going
there; indeed, she did not remember having seen him go there in his
waking moments. She knew nothing of somnambulism; but she imagined that
he had gone in that direction by mere chance, that if he had happened
to find any impediment in his way he might as easily have gone in
another direction.

She fell asleep at last and slept an hour beyond her usual time, and so
deeply that Jessie had filled the cold bath without waking her beloved
young mistress. Ida dressed quickly,