er
welling tears, passed it for long remembrance over his features:
letting the palm lie close against his forehead with her fingers in
his hair; afterward pressing it softly over his eyes and passing it
around his neck. Then she took her hand away as though fearful of
an impulse. Then she put her hand out again and laid her fingers
across his lips. Then she took her hand away, and leaning over,
laid her lips on his lips:

"Good-by!" she murmured against his face, "good-by! good-by!
good-by!"

Mrs. Conyers had seen Rowan and Isabel together in the parlors
early in the evening. She had seen them, late in the evening, quit
the house. She had counted the minutes till they returned and she
had marked their agitation as they parted. The closest association
lasting from childhood until now had convinced her of the
straightforwardness of Isabel's character; and the events of the
night were naturally accepted by her as evidences of the renewal of
relationship with Rowan, if not as yet of complete reconciliation.

She herself had encountered during the evening unexpected slights
and repulses. Her hostesses had been cool, but she expected them
to be cool: they did not like her nor she them. But Judge Morris
had avoided her; the Hardages had avoided her; each member of the
Meredith family had avoided her; Isabel had avoided her; even
Harriet, when once she crossed the rooms to her, had with an
incomprehensible flare of temper turned her back and sought refuge
with Miss Anna. She was very angry.

But overbalancing the indignities of the evening was now this
supreme joy of Isabel's return to what she believed to be Isabel's
destiny. She sent her grandson home that she might have the drive
with the girl alone. When Isabel, upon entering the carriage, her
head and eyes closely muffled in her shawl, had withdrawn as far as
possible into one corner and remained silent on the way, she
refrained from intrusion, believing that she understood the
emotions dominating her behavior.

The carriage drew up at the door. She got out quickly and passed
to her room--with a motive of her own.

Isabel lingered. She ascended the steps without conscious will.
At the top she missed her shawl: it had become entangled in the
fringe of a window strap, had slipped from her bare shoulders as
she set her foot on the pavement, and now lay in the track of the
carriage wheels. As she picked it up, an owl flew viciously close
to her face.