pon his lips. He looked
at her in perfect silence for a full minute--looked at her from head
to foot, at her soft white dress, with its floating sea of dainty
draperies, and at the diamonds on her neck and bosom. Then his eye
seemed to blaze with anger.

"'"Girl!" he cried sternly, "you have dragged down into the mire one
of the proudest names in Europe! Curse you for it! As for you, sir,"
he added, turning to me, "you are a dishonoured scoundrel! a cur!"

"'He was right! I was a blackguard. But had it not been for those last
words of his, I should straight-way have offered to have married Irene
on the morrow. The words were on my lips, but the contempt of that
monosyllable maddened me. The better impulse passed away.

"'"You should have given her to me when I asked for her hand," I
answered. "You cur!" he repeated. I looked at him steadily. "You are
an old man," I said, "or I should throw you down my stairs. Now go!
Irene has nothing to say to you, nor have I."

"'He lingered on the threshold for a moment, surveying us both with a
calm dignity, before which I felt ashamed.

"'"As you remind me, I am an old man," he said quietly, "and I have,
alas, no son to chastise you as you deserve. But the season of old age
is the season of prophecy! Listen, Martin de Vaux," pointing towards
me, "you shall taste the bitterest dregs of sorrow and remorse in
the days to come, for this your evil deed. You may scoff, both of
you,--you may say to yourselves that an old man's words are words of
folly,--but the day will come! It is writ in the book of fate, and my
eyes have seen it! Pile sin upon sin, and pleasure upon pleasure; say
to yourselves, 'let us eat and be merry, for to-morrow we shall die!'
For so it is written, and my eyes have seen it!"

"'He was gone almost before the echo of his words had died away. I
called after him, but there was no answer but the sound of a shutting
door. I looked at Irene; she was calmly buttoning her glove.

"'"The carriage is waiting," she reminded me coolly.

"'I gave her my arm, and laughed. We drove to the opera.'"

CHAPTER XXV

"A BECKONING VOICE FROM OUT A SHADOWY LAND"

Midnight rang solemnly out from the Abbey clock. The priest paused in
his story to count the strokes, and Paul drew out his watch with an
incredulous gesture.

"You must stay here to-night," he said; "it will be too late for you
to leave."

He rang the bell, and ordered a room to be prepared. Father Adria