se of the evening she found herself wondering if the exciting
occurrences of their last meeting could be reality. Noel read aloud
most of the evening an agreeable, unexciting book, and Christine
thanked him from her heart that he did not ask, as usual, for music.

As for Mrs. Murray, as the days went on she found herself continually
wondering that such a state of things could last. She was perfectly sure
of Noel's feeling, and she thought its continued entire suppression very
strange. She was often tempted to make some excuse to leave them alone,
but a fear of the consequences held her back, for she was absolutely
unable to calculate upon Christine. She had not the courage to lift a
finger in the matter.

Almost imperceptibly a change was coming over Christine, and by degrees
Mrs. Murray became aware of it. She grew more silent and fond of being
alone. She even went out now and took long, companionless walks, coming
home exhausted and preoccupied. "Poor girl!" thought her kind, old
friend. "She is very unhappy, and for a little while, in her deliverance
from a worse unhappiness, she had managed to forget it partly."

On one occasion Noel rather urgently pressed the matter of being allowed
to bring his mother and sisters to call. He did so in the hope that time
might have somewhat modified Christine's feeling in the matter, but he
found it absolutely unchanged and was obliged to withdraw his request.

As the days and weeks went by Noel became every day more restless and
gloomy. He was unhappy if he stayed away from Christine, and yet to be
in her presence merely as a friendly visitor was often galling and
depressing to an almost intolerable degree. He scarcely ever saw her
alone for a moment, and he had a certain conviction that while Mrs.
Murray did some gentle plotting to leave them _tete-a-tete_ Christine
managed ingeniously to thwart her plans.

About this time he was compelled to go away for a week on a business
expedition, and so, for more than that space of time, he had not called
at Mrs. Murray's. When he rang the door-bell on the evening of his
return Harriet, who answered it, left him to find his way alone to the
pretty sitting-room, warm and lighted and empty, as he thought. The next
instant, however, his heart gave a bound, as he saw at its opposite end
Christine, tall and slight and young and beautiful, standing, with her
back turned, before a table against the wall, on which a large engraving
rested.