mud, and
while she was bending over, the curls got in her eyes. If you could have
seen her then, I think, sir, you would have said she was like the first
sight of spring.... We had tea afterwards, all together, in the long
grass under some fruit-trees. If I had the knack of words, there are
things that I could say." He bent, as though in deference to those
unspoken memories. "Twilight came on while we were sitting there. A
wonderful thing is twilight in the country! It became time for us to go.
There was an avenue of trees close by--like a church with a window at
the end, where golden light came through. I walked up and down it with
her. 'Will you come again?' she whispered, and suddenly she lifted up
her face to be kissed. I kissed her as if she were a little child. And
when we said good-bye, her eyes were looking at me across her father's
shoulder, with surprise and sorrow in them. 'Why do you go away?' they
seemed to say.... But I must tell you," he went on hurriedly, "of a
thing that happened before we had gone a hundred yards. We were smoking
our pipes, and I, thinking of her--when out she sprang from the hedge
and stood in front of us. Dalton cried out, 'What are you here for
again, you mad girl?' She rushed up to him and hugged him; but when she
looked at me, her face was quite different--careless, defiant, as one
might say--it hurt me. I couldn't understand it, and what one doesn't
understand frightens one."

IV

"Time went on. There was no swordsman, or pistol-shot like me in London,
they said. We had as many pupils as we liked--it was the only part of my
life when I have been able to save money. I had no chance to spend it.
We gave lessons all day, and in the evening were too tired to go out.
That year I had the misfortune to lose my dear mother. I became a rich
man--yes, sir, at that time I must have had not less than six hundred a
year.

"It was a long time before I saw Eilie again. She went abroad to Dresden
with her father's sister to learn French and German. It was in the
autumn of 1875 when she came back to us. She was seventeen then--a
beautiful young creature." He paused, as if to gather his forces for
description, and went on.

"Tall, as a young tree, with eyes like the sky. I would not say she was
perfect, but her imperfections were beautiful to me. What is it makes
you love--ah! sir, that is very hidden and mysterious. She had never
lost the trick of closing her lips tightly when she rem