fate. The young trees had grown a little and stood basking, scarcely
shivering, leaning their feeble young heads together in the sun, but
making little show as yet; all was wrapped in the warmth and stillness
of the summer morning. The old butler stood upon the steps of the great
door, his white head and black figure making a point in the bright,
unbroken, still life about. Within, Lady Markland was in the morning-room
with her business books and papers, but not doing much; and Geoff in
another, alone with _his_ books, not doing much; thinking, both of them,
of the expected visitor now riding up in a breathless white heat of
excitement to the hall door.

The entire house knew what was coming. Two or three maids were
peeping at the windows above, saying, "There he is," with flutters of
sympathetic emotion. That was why the butler himself stood on the steps
waiting. All these spectators in the background had watched for a long
time past; and a simultaneous thrill had run through the household, which
no one was conscious of being the cause of, which was instinctive and
incontrovertible. If not yesterday, then to-day; or to-morrow, if anything
should come in the way to-day. Things had come to such a pitch that they
could go no farther. Of this every one in Markland was sure. There is
something that gets into the air when excitement and self-repression run
high, and warns the whole world about of the approach of an event. "A
bird of the air hath carried the matter." So it is said in all languages.
But it is more than a bird in the air, swifter, flying, entering into
the very scent of the flowers. The last thing that Warrender thought of
was that the fire and passion in his own breast had been thus publicly
revealed. He wondered night and day whether _she_ knew, whether she had
any suspicion, if it had ever occurred to her to think; but that the
maids should be peeping from the windows, and the old butler watching
at the door to receive the lover, was beyond his farthest conception of
possibility, fortunately--since such a thought would have overwhelmed
him with fury and shame.

Lady Markland sat at her table, pondering a letter from Mr. Longstaffe.
She had it spread out before her, but she could only half see the words,
and only half understand what they meant. She had read in Theo's eyes
upon the previous day--all. Had he but known he had nothing to reveal to
her, nothing that she could not have told him beforehand! She h