k hung listlessly in
one hand, and she seemed lost in thought. So deep was her abstraction
that the noise of Lord Chetwynde's steps on the marble floor did not
arouse her. When he saw her he paused involuntarily, and stood for a
few moments in silence.

Yes, it was _she_! One look told him this. It was the one who for so
long a time had been in all his thoughts, who in his illness had been
ever present to his delirious dreams. It was the one to whom his
heart had never ceased to turn since that first day when that head
had lain for a moment on his breast, and that rich, luxuriant hair
had flowed in a sea of glory over his arms, burnished by the red rays
of the rising sun. He walked softly forward and drew near. Then the
noise of his footsteps roused her. She turned.

There came over her face the sudden light of joyous and rapturous
wonder. In that sudden rapture she seemed to lose breath and sense.
She started forward to her feet, and the book fell from her hand. For
an instant she pressed her hand to her heart, and then, with both
hands outstretched, and with her beautiful face all aglow with joy
and delight that she could not conceal, she stepped forward. But
suddenly, as though some other thought occurred, she stopped, and a
crimson glow came over her pale face. She cast down her eyes and
stood waiting.

Lord Chetwynde caught her outstretched hand, which still was timidly
held toward him, in both of his, and said not one word. For a time
neither of them spoke, but he held her hand, and she did not withdraw
it.

"Oh!" he cried, suddenly, as though the words were torn from him,
"how I have longed for this moment!"

She looked at him hastily and confusedly, and then withdrew her hand,
while another flush swept over her face.

"Mr. Windham," she faltered, in low tones, "what an unexpected
pleasure! I--I thought you were in England."

"And so I was," said Lord Chetwynde, as he devoured her with the
ardent gaze of his eyes; "but my business was finished, and I
left--"

"How did you find us out?" she asked, smilingly, as, once more
resuming her self-possession, she sat down again upon the Egyptian
sofa and picked up her book. "Have you been in correspondence with
Mr. Chute?"

"No," laughed Lord Chetwynde. "It was fate that threw him into my way
at the Boboli Gardens this morning. I have been here for--well, for a
small eternity--and was thinking of going away when he came up, and
now I am reconciled to all my