d, I suspected, by the representations Bill made to his
mother. She said, "Good-by," with coldness; but he shook hands with
me, and said it was all right he supposed.

The day they went I had a letter from father which informed me that
mother would not come to Rosville. He reminded me that I had been
in Rosville over a year. "I am going home soon," I said to myself,
putting away the letter. It was a summer day, bright and hot. Alice,
busy all day, complained of fatigue and went to bed soon after tea.
The windows were open and the house was perfumed with odors from
the garden. At twilight I went out and walked under the elms, whose
pendant boughs were motionless. I watched the stars as they came out
one by one above the pale green ring of the horizon and glittered in
the evening sky, which darkened slowly. I was coming up the gravel
walk when I heard a step at the upper end of it which arrested me. I
recognized it, and slipped behind a tree to wait till it should pass
by me; but it ceased, and I saw Charles pulling off a twig of the
tree, which brushed against his face. Presently he sprang round the
tree, caught me, and held me fast.

"I am glad you are here, my darling. Do you smell the roses?"

"Yes; let me go."

"Not till you tell me one thing. Why do you stay in Rosville?"

The baby gave a loud cry in Alice's chamber which resounded through
the garden.

"Go and take care of your baby," I said roughly, "and not busy
yourself with me."

"Cassandra," he said, with a menacing voice, "how dare you defy me?
How dare you tempt me?"

I put my hand on his arm. "Charles, is love a matter of temperament?"

"Are you mad? It is life--it is heaven--it is hell."

"There is something in this soft, beautiful, odorous night that makes
one mad. Still I shall not say to you what you once said to me."

"Ah! you do not forget those words--'_I love you_.'"

Some one came down the lane which ran behind the garden whistling an
opera air.

"There is your Providence," he said quietly, resting his hand against
the tree.

I ran round to the front piazza, just as Ben Somers turned out of the
lane, and called him.

"I have wandered all over Rosville since sunset," he said "and at last
struck upon that lane. To whom does it belong?"

"It is ours, and the horses are exercised there."

"'In such a night,
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,
And sighed his soul towards the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay t