s, and pallid lips, remained before him night and day for
months, and though, in the process of time, the vividness of the picture
waned, it lived always among his unforgettable impressions.

"You must leave me," she said again.

"Yes, but I will come in the morning."

"You will rest, you will try to sleep--for my sake."

This time she lifted her head, and, turning towards him, met once more
the glance which she felt must have called her to life had she been
dead.

"You will come in the morning?"

"Yes."

Once more she held out her arms. He kissed her mouth, and eyes, and hair
once more. Neither could speak, and both were tearless. Then she went
with him to the door, opened it, and seemed to lead the way through the
long corridor, down some stone steps to the garden. She knew that he
would not leave the spot while she was in sight. So she walked back to
the house alone and mounted the steps, turning at each one to wave her
hand. He saw her enter at last, and close the window. Then she fell and
was helpless till she was found by Esther. Robert watched till the
lights were lit, and for some hours after they were finally
extinguished. The stars came out, and the moon made the languid night
seem white with beauty. Orange walked toward the town and the small
cemetery where Madame Bertin was buried. Then he threw himself by the
lonely grave which held the one creature on earth whom he seemed to have
a right to love without scruple and without restraint. And there he
remained till daybreak, weeping.

CHAPTER XIII

Lady Sara had written to the Duke of Marshire, and so fulfilled, in
part, her promise to her father. But, while she said much that was
graceful, coquettish, and characteristic, the Duke felt unable to regard
it as an acceptance of his offer. She was very kind with that kindness
which has no sort of encouragement in it. Among other things, she begged
for another week on the plea that "seven days furnished a very short
speculation when the result might possibly decide the whole course of
her life." In much anxiety, for his Grace was very much in love, he
composed, after three hours of careful thought, a reply, and, having
read the least tender but most sensible passages to his lawyer, he
himself left the communication, together with a beautifully bound copy
of "Lettres Choisies," by Madame de Sevigne, at St. James's Square. The
parcel and the missive arrived when the young lady was reading and
re-re