t ease. I suppose the awe he inspired, like the fear of
ghosts, subsided at the dawning of morning. There was something so
exhilarating in the pure fresh air, in the dewy brightness of the hour,
in the exercise of roaming through a wilderness of sweets, that my
spirits were too elastic to be held down. He seemed to take an interest
in watching me, and even altered the position of some white roses, which
he said wanted a shading of green.

"And what are these beautiful clusters laid aside for?" he asked, taking
up some which I had deposited on the table.

"I thought," I answered, after a slight hesitation, "that Edith would
like them for your room."

"Then it is only to please Edith you place them there, not to please
yourself?"

"I should not dare to do it to please myself," I hastily replied.

I thought I must have said something wrong, for he turned away with a
peculiar smile. I colored with vexation, and was glad that Edith came in
to divert his attention from me.

Nothing could be more gentle and affectionate than his greeting. He went
up and kissed her, as if she were a little child, put his arm round her,
and taking one of her crutches, made her lean on him for support. I
understood something of the secret of her idolatry.

Where was the impenetrable reserve of which his mother had spoken?

I had not yet seen him in society. As he talked with Edith, his head
slightly bent and his profile turned towards me, I could look at him
unobserved, and I was struck even more than the evening before with the
transparent paleness of his complexion. Dark, delicate, and smooth as
alabaster, it gave an air of extreme refinement and sensibility to his
face, without detracting from its manliness or intellectual power. It
was a face to peruse, to study, to think of,--it was a baffling,
haunting face. Hieroglyphics of thought were there, too mysterious for
the common eye to interpret. It was a dark lantern, flashing light
before it, itself all in shadow.

"It is a shame that you must leave us, Gabriella," said Edith, when
after breakfast her pony was brought to the door. "Ernest," added she,
turning to him, "I am _so_ glad you are come. You must persuade mamma to
lay her commands on Gabriella, and not permit her to make such a slave
of herself. I feel guilty to be at home doing nothing and she toiling
six long hours."

"It is Gabriella's own choice," cried Mrs. Linwood, a slight flush
crossing her cheek. "Is it not, my ch