Melissa Whiting's voice had long been stilled, but Pablo was rioting
yet.

The old grove was in bloom. It was not so productive now as it had been
in Mrs. Thorne's day, but it was more beautiful; Pablo's rioting had not
included steady labor of any sort, there had been no pruning, and very
little digging; the aisles were green and luxuriant, the ground
undisturbed. The perfume of the blossoms filled the air; on some of the
trees blossoms and ripe fruit were hanging together.

Winthrop walked on under the bright foliage and bride-like bloom. But
there was no sign of Margaret.

"Of course she would not be here," he thought, "or at least she would
not stay; it's far too sweet."

At length he saw her light dress. She was not in the grove, as he had
thought; she was in a glade beyond it. Here there was an old nondescript
pillar, crowned by a clumsy vase. She was leaning against this ornament,
with her back to the grove; one arm lay across the top. She wore no
gloves, and he could see her pretty hand with its single ring, the band
of plain gold. In front of her there was the low curb of an old well,
overgrown with jessamine; she appeared to be looking at it.

His footsteps had made no sound on the soft earth, he came upon her
before she discovered him.

"I don't think you can be much surprised to see me," he said; "you have
waited here to the last hour of your allotted time. You might have gone
days ago, and then I should not have seen you at all; but you have
waited. It looks quite as if you expected me to come, as if you wished
to give me one more final thrust before you joined your excellent
husband. Of course I deserve nothing better."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"Yes, I have waited. But it was because I have been trying to--to
arrange something," Margaret answered.

She had taken her hand from the old pillar, she stood erect now, with
the white shawl she was wearing folded closely round her.

"Something nicely calculated to make me suffer more, I suppose; I
haven't been punished enough for speaking as I did."

"It wasn't anything that concerned you."

"That everlasting self-possession of yours, Margaret! Here I come upon
you suddenly; you're not a hard-hearted woman at all, and yet, thanks to
that, you can receive me without a change of expression, you can see all
my trouble and grief, and talk to me about 'arrangements!'"

"You asked me--you accused me--" Her calmness was not as perfect as he
had represent