r. It was foolish moreover to suppose
anything could have happened to him after putting off from Baveno by
water to rejoin me, for the evening was absolutely windless and more
than sufficiently clear and the lake as calm as glass. Besides I had
unlimited confidence in his power to take care of himself in a much
tighter place. I went to my room at last; his own was at some distance,
the people of the hotel not having been able--it was the height of
the autumn season--to make us contiguous. Before I went to bed I had
occasion to ring for a servant, and I then learned by a chance enquiry
that my nephew had returned an hour before and had gone straight to
his own quarters. I hadn't supposed he could come in without my seeing
him--I was wandering about the saloons and terraces--and it had not
occurred to me to knock at his door. I had half a mind to do so now--I
was so anxious as to how I should find him; but I checked myself, for
evidently he had wanted to dodge me. This didn't diminish my curiosity,
and I slept even less than I had expected. His so markedly shirking our
encounter--for if he hadn't perceived me downstairs he might have looked
for me in my room--was a sign that Mrs. Pallant's interview with him
would really have come off. What had she said to him? What strong
measures had she taken? That almost morbid resolution I still seemed to
hear the ring of pointed to conceivable extremities that I shrank from
considering. She had spoken of these things while we parted there as
something she would do for me; but I had made the mental comment in
walking away from her that she hadn't done it yet. It wouldn't truly be
done till Archie had truly backed out. Perhaps it was done by this time;
his avoiding me seemed almost a proof. That was what I thought of most
of the night. I spent a considerable part of it at my window, looking
out to the couchant Alps. HAD he thought better of it?--was he making up
his mind to think better of it? There was a strange contradiction in the
matter; there were in fact more contradictions than ever. I had taken
from Louisa what she told me of Linda, and yet that other idea made me
ashamed of my nephew. I was sorry for the girl; I regretted her loss of
a great chance, if loss it was to be; and yet I hoped her mother's grand
treachery--I didn't know what to call it--had been at least, to her
lover, thoroughgoing. It would need strong action in that lady to
justify his retreat. For him too I was so