ir. Her sweet face was towards him, its pallor relieved
only by the long shadow of the dark lashes and the bent bow of the lips.
One white wrist and hand hung down almost to the floor, and beneath the
spread curtain of the sunlit hair her bosom heaved softly in her sleep.
She looked so wondrously beautiful in her rest that he stopped almost
awed, and gazed, and gazed again, feeling as though a present sense and
power were stilling his heart to silence. It is dangerous to look upon
such quiet loveliness, and very dangerous to feel that pressure at the
heart. A truly wise man feeling it would have fled, knowing that seeds
sown in such silences may live to bloom upon a bitter day, and shed
their fruit into the waters of desolation. But Geoffrey was not
wise--who would have been? He still stood and gazed till the sight
stamped itself so deeply on the tablets of his heart that through all
the years to come no heats of passion, no frosts of doubt, and no sense
of loss could ever dull its memory.

The silent sun shone on, the silent woman slept, and in silence the
watcher gazed. And as he looked a great fear, a prescience of evil that
should come, entered into Geoffrey and took possession of him. A cloud
without crossed the ray of sunlight and turned it. It wavered, for a
second it rested on his breast, flashed back to hers, then went out; and
as it flashed and died, he seemed to know that henceforth, for life till
death, ay! and beyond, his fate and that sleeping woman's were one
fate. It was but a momentary knowledge; the fear shook him, and was gone
almost before he understood its foolishness. But it had been with him,
and in after days he remembered it.

Just then Beatrice woke, opening her grey eyes. Their dreamy glance fell
upon him, looking through him and beyond him, rather than at him. Then
she raised herself a little and stretching out both her arms towards
him, spoke aloud.

"So have you have come back to me at last," she said. "I knew that you
would come and I have waited."

He made no answer, he did not know what to say; indeed he began to think
that he also must be dreaming. For a little while Beatrice still looked
at him in the same absent manner, then suddenly started up, the red
blood streaming to her brow.

"Why, Mr. Bingham," she said, "is it really you? What was it that I
said? Oh, pray forgive me, whatever it was. I have been asleep dreaming
such a curious dream, and talking in my sleep."

"Do not a