eech was nothing, but the foreign accent gave a softness to the
words, and the southern grace of manner gave an air of romance to the
handsome youth. Sylvia was in the mood to be pleased with everybody,
everything, and was unusually gracious as they merrily pursued the
subject suggested by his question. Presently he asked--

"Is Warwick with you now?"

"He was not staying with us, but with his friend, Mr. Moor."

"He was the gentleman who pulled so well that day?"

"Yes."

"Is Warwick with him still?"

"Oh, no, he went away three months ago."

"I wonder where!"

"So do I!"

The wish had been impulsively expressed, and was as impulsively echoed.
Young Andre smiled, and liked Miss Yule the better for forgetting that
somewhat lofty air of hers.

"You have no conjecture, then? I wish to find him, much, very much, but
cannot put myself upon his trail. He is so what you call peculiar that
he writes no letters, leaves no address, and roves here and there like a
born gitano."

"Have you ill news for him?"

"I have the best a man could desire; but fear that while I look for him
he has gone to make a disappointment for himself. You are a friend, I
think?"

"I am."

"Then you know much of him, his life, his ways?"

"Yes, both from himself and Mr. Moor."

"Then you know of his betrothal to my cousin, doubtless, and I may speak
of it, because if you will be so kind you may perhaps help us to find
him."

"I did not know--perhaps he did not wish it--" began Sylvia, folding one
hand tightly in the other, with a quick breath and a momentary sensation
as if some one had struck her in the face.

"He thinks so little of us I shall not regard his wish just now. If you
will permit me I would say a word for my cousin's sake, as I know you
will be interested for her, and I do not feel myself strange with you."

Sylvia bowed, and standing before her with an air half mannish, half
boyish, Gabriel went on in the low, rapid tone peculiar to him.

"See, then, my cousin was betrothed in May. A month after Adam cries
out that he loves too much for his peace, that he has no freedom of his
heart or mind, that he must go away and take his breath before he is
made a happy slave forever. Ottila told me this. She implored him to
stay; but no, he vows he will not come again till they marry, in the
next June. He thinks it a weakness to adore a woman. Impertinente! I
have no patience for him."

Gabriel spoke indignantly, and press