elation of the truth burst upon his
mind; "_that_ can be easily enough arranged. If he is the sensible,
practical man I take him to be, he will get back his estates and the very
best little wife that ever was wed into the bargain; and my girl will be
a marchioness, and in time a duchess. But stay--what is that I heard up
at Lone about the young marquis and a handsome shepherdess? Chut! what is
that to us? That is probably a slander. The marquis is a noble young
fellow; and I will bring him home with me this evening. I will not wait
a week until that dinner comes off. We cannot afford to lose so much time
at the end of the season," mused the banker, through all the time his
valet was dressing him.

And now we must glance back to that evening when John Scott, Marquis of
Arondelle, first met Salome Levison. He had met many statuesque, pink and
white beauties in his young life; and he had admired each and all with
all a young man's ardor. But not one of them had touched his heart, as
did the first full gaze of those large, soft gray eyes that were lifted
to his and immediately dropped as the old banker had presented him to--

"My daughter, Miss Levison."

She was not statuesque. She was not pink and white. She was not at all
handsome, or even pretty; yet something in the pale, sweet, earnest face,
something in the soft clear gray eyes touched his heart even before he
was presented to her. But when she lifted those eloquent eyes to his
face, there was such a world of sympathy, appreciation and devotion in
their swift and swiftly-withdrawn gaze, that her soul seemed then and
there to reveal itself to his soul.

He never again met the full gaze of those spirit eyes. He never exchanged
a word with her after the first few formal words of greeting. He had only
bowed to her, in taking leave that evening.

Yet those eyes had haunted him in their meek appealing tenderness ever
since. He did not meet her anywhere by accident, and he did not try to
meet her by design. He only thought of her constantly. But what had he to
do with the banker's wealthy heiress, the future mistress of Lone? If he
were so unwise as to seek her acquaintance, the world would be quick to
ascribe the most mercenary motives to his conduct. But like weaker minded
lovers, he comforted himself by writing such transcendental poetry as
"The Soul's Recognition," "The Meeting of the Spirits," "What Those Eyes
Said," etc. He did not publish these. After having reli