Bluebeard's chamber, where
all the wedding finery was spread. How was she to meet Mr. Gilbert, and
the fleeting hours were hurrying after one another, as hours never had
hurried before.

The afternoon sun dropped low, the noises in the fields grew more and
more subdued, the cool evening wind swept up from the distant sea.
Norine sat in the wicker chair in the garden under the old apple-tree
and waited--waited as a doomed prisoner might the coming of the
executioner. A book lay idle an her lap, she could not read, she sat
there waiting--waiting--waiting, and schooling herself for the ordeal.

Presently, far off on the white road, rose up a cloud of dust, there
came the rolling of wheels, she caught a glimpse of a carriage. She
clasped her hands together and strove to steady herself. At last he was
here. Out of the dusty cloud came a buggy, whirling rapidly up to the
gate--out of the buggy came Richard Gilbert, his eager face turned
towards her. His quick eye had espied her; she rose up to meet him, calm
in the very depth of desperation. Mr. Gilbert sprang out and caught both
her hands in his.

"My dear, dear girl! My own Norine! how glad I am to be with you once
more! But how pale you look. Have you been ill?"

"Oh, no--that is--only my old friend, headache. Here comes Aunty Hetty
and Uncle Reuben to welcome you."

She drew back, thankful for the diversion, feeling hot and cold by
turns, and not daring to meet his eye. Their laughter, their gay
greetings were only a confused hum in her ears, she was looking at the
clump of hemlocks, and feeling--oh, such a false, treacherous guilty
creature.

"How dazed you look, little girl!" her happy lover said laughing; "am I
such an ogre, then, in your sight?"

He drew her hand beneath his arm, with the air of one who assumes a
right, and led her to the house. They were alone together in the parlor,
and she was trying to call her wandering mind to order, and listen to
him and answer his questions. She could see with terror that he was
watching her already with grave, troubled eyes. What was it, this pale,
still change in her? Dread of her approaching marriage, maiden timidity,
or worst of all--was the thought of another man haunting her still?

Tea time came and was a relief; after tea, Mr. Gilbert proposed a walk.
Norine took her hat passively, and went out with him into the hushed and
placid twilight. The pale primrose light was fading out of the western
sky, and a risi