nd he was still pondering
upon the surest method of obtaining access to her in that case,
when, coming to the door of the house, he found it had been left
ajar--probably by the last person who had gone out. The occasion was
not one upon which to observe the nicest ceremony; therefore, availing
himself of this advantage, Nicholas walked gently upstairs and knocked
at the door of the room into which he had been accustomed to be shown.
Receiving permission to enter, from some person on the other side, he
opened the door and walked in.

Bray and his daughter were sitting there alone. It was nearly three
weeks since he had seen her last, but there was a change in the lovely
girl before him which told Nicholas, in startling terms, how much mental
suffering had been compressed into that short time. There are no words
which can express, nothing with which can be compared, the perfect
pallor, the clear transparent whiteness, of the beautiful face which
turned towards him when he entered. Her hair was a rich deep brown,
but shading that face, and straying upon a neck that rivalled it in
whiteness, it seemed by the strong contrast raven black. Something of
wildness and restlessness there was in the dark eye, but there was the
same patient look, the same expression of gentle mournfulness which he
well remembered, and no trace of a single tear. Most beautiful--more
beautiful, perhaps, than ever--there was something in her face which
quite unmanned him, and appeared far more touching than the wildest
agony of grief. It was not merely calm and composed, but fixed and
rigid, as though the violent effort which had summoned that composure
beneath her father's eye, while it mastered all other thoughts, had
prevented even the momentary expression they had communicated to the
features from subsiding, and had fastened it there, as an evidence of
its triumph.

The father sat opposite to her; not looking directly in her face, but
glancing at her, as he talked with a gay air which ill disguised
the anxiety of his thoughts. The drawing materials were not on their
accustomed table, nor were any of the other tokens of her usual
occupations to be seen. The little vases which Nicholas had always
seen filled with fresh flowers were empty, or supplied only with a few
withered stalks and leaves. The bird was silent. The cloth that covered
his cage at night was not removed. His mistress had forgotten him.

There are times when, the mind being painful