comes from;" but it
was instantly overclouded by the remark which followed. "I suppose,
though, you won't be able to drink much more of it than you do here:" on
realizing which crushing fact, his melancholy became, if possible, more
profound than ever. Indeed, since he crossed the Channel, he had spent
most of his leisure moments in a sort of chronic blasphemy, which, it is
to be hoped, afforded him some slight relief and consolation, as it was
wholly unintelligible to his audience; for, to do Dick justice, in his
sister's presence the door of his lips was always strictly guarded.

However, to Dorade they came--hours after their time, of course, but
perfectly safe: no accident ever does happen in France to any thing
properly booked, except to luggage sent by _roulage_, to which there
attaches the romantic uncertainty of Vanderdecken's correspondence.
Cecil rather liked traveling; it never tired her; so, by midnight she
had seen Mrs. Danvers, weary and querulous, to bed--gone through a
variety of gymnastics in the way of _accolades_, with Fanny
Molyneux--taken some trouble in inquiring about shooting and other
amusements likely to divert her brother from his sorrows--and yet did
not feel very sleepy.

They ignore shutters in these climes; and her reflection was still
flitting backward and forward across the white window-blinds as Royston
Keene came home from the Cercle. He knew the room, or guessed who the
shadow belonged to; and as he moved away, after pausing a minute or two,
he waved his hand toward it, with a gesture so unwarrantably like a
salute that, were _silhouettes_ sensitive or prudish, it might have
proved an offense not easily forgiven.

CHAPTER V.

The next morning was so soft and sunny that it tempted Miss Tresilyan
out on the terrace of their hotel very soon after breakfast. She was
waiting for her brother on the top of the steps leading down into the
road, when Major Keene passed by again. If he had never heard of her
before, the smooth sweeping outline of her magnificent form, and the
careless grace of her attitude, as she stood leaning against the stone
balustrade, were not likely to escape an eye that was wont to light on
every point of feminine perfection, as a poacher's does on a sitting
hare. But he never got so far as her face then; and hardly had time to
criticise her figure; for at that moment a brisk gust of the _mistral_
swept round the corner, and revealed a foot and ankle so mar