little supper was spread beside the chair, and drawing his model—for such I now suspect Clarice to be—into the velvet nest beside him, Noel made merry over it like one content, and yet not heartily at ease. It was a prettier picture than any he will ever paint; both so young, so blithe and beautiful, so loving and beloved, so free and rich in all that makes life pleasant. I felt like one shut out from some sweet Paradise as I lay looking from the dimness of the night upon this happy pair, while they nestled there together, drinking from the same glass, eating from the same plate, serving one another with such charming zeal, and forgetting all things but themselves.
Utterly oblivious of the outer world, Pierre's voice nearly caused me to betray myself, so suddenly did it break the hush.
"Catherine, has Monsieur Clyde come in?"
"Yes, long ago; his light is out."
The speakers were in the garden, and waiting till the door closed upon them I crept to the pine, half-slid, half-fell in my haste, and safely regained my room.
June 9th.—Mrs. St. Michael came, had a brief interview with Mr. Noel on the lawn, which was prudent but unsatisfactory to me, for I learned nothing from it. Saw no more of him till dinner, when he told me he should pass the evening out. At eight he drove away, and, curious to know when he returned, I amused myself with a book till nearly midnight; then, wearying of it, put out my light, and sat musing in the dark. The night was cloudy, close and warm, and, finding all still, I presently went out into the lane, wondering if Clarice, too, watched and waited for his return. The window was dark, but just as I turned from it, I was alarmed by the sound of wheels close by. I recognized the light roll of the pony carriage, though it was deadened by the turf, for to my dismay it was evidently coming not up the avenue, but along the lane. Fearing to be seen if I attempted to gut in, I sprang behind the hedge, and, holding my breath, saw the carriage pause before the door in the garden-wall. A man leaped out, seemed to listen, then admitted himself both to the garden and the house, as the sound of a cautiously lifted window suggested. Quite breathless with interest I waited, and sooner than I expected the man reappeared, not alone now, for a slender female figure clung to him, I could just see the outline of their figures, the white gleam of their faces, but I knew them at once by the few words rapidly exchanged in Italian.
"How still it is! Have you no fear?"
"I have done with fear, Clarice."
"And I with captivity, thank God!"
"I shall miss you sadly, dear."
"Not for long, your wife will comfort you."
A little laugh accompanied the words, and, like spectres of the shadowy hour, house, carriage, man, and woman vanished in the gloom.
Here is a clue at last: Noel will marry, and for this purpose clears his house of all encumbrances; poor madame and the lovely model must give place to some woman whom he unwillingly marries—if his face and manner are to be relied on. Why he does so is a mystery like himself, but I will yet fathom both.
June 10th.—It is well that I was prepared beforehand, else the announcement made to me this evening would have filled me with uncontrolable surprise. Mr. Noel wrote steadily all day, was unusually taciturn at dinner, and amused himself at the piano till twilight fell. I had been pacing up and down the hall enjoying his music, when it ceased abruptly, and coming out he joined me in my promenade. The hall was not lighted, except by the softened gleam of shaded lamps in the drawing-room. I instantly observed the anxious look I have learned to know, and by the alight embarrassment of his usually easy manner I inferred that he both wished and feared to speak. Presently fixing his eyes full upon me, he said slowly, as if weighing every word and marking its effect:
"Mr. Clyde, as an inmate of my house, I feel that it is but right for me to tell you of an approaching event, which, however, will not materially change my mode of life nor your own—I am about to marry."
He so evidently expected me to be surprised that I instantly feigned what I should yesterday have really felt.
Stopping in my walk, I exclaimed:
"Married! you are very young for that experience;" there I checked myself and began the proper congratulations. He cut them short by asking:
"How old do you believe me to be?:
"You look eighteen; your book says forty," I answered, laughing.
"I am of age, however, and though young to marry, have neither parents nor guardians to forbid it if they would."
"It will be soon I infer, as you do me the honor of announcing it to me?"
"On Saturday."
"You mentioned that this event would make no change in my present mode of life—I am then to continue my copying as usual during your absence?"
"I shall be absent but a day. It will be a very private affair, and my—Mrs. Noel will return with me at once."
A little pause fell between us. I was contrasting his cool, quiet manner now with the loverlike expression he had worn when with Clarice, and felt more than ever convinced that for some weighty reason he was doing violence to his own heart. He seemed conscious that, having said so much, he should say more, and presently added, still in the same measured tone:
"Madame's departure leaves me lonely. My attachment is no sudden one, for I have loved Hortense from her babyhood. She, too, is an orphan, and both being solitary, we see no wisdom in delaying to secure our happiness. Mrs. St. Michael is a mutual friend, and at her house we shall be married in the quietest manner, for the few relatives we possess are far distant, and Hortense dreads strangers."
Here Pierre came in, bringing a dainty little note, which he delivered with a smile. Noel took it eagerly, wished me good-night, and hurried away to the west wing. I wish that I, too, were a lover.
June 12th.—Since our conversation in the hall I have scarcely seen Mr. Noel, and therefore I have little to record. For an hour or two he has sat in his alcove, then dressed and driven away to the St. Michaels, where I suspect the bride-elect has already arrived. To-day the wedding-day, and I waited with intense impatience for the coming of the young pair. Not that I expected to be invited to join them so soon, if ever, but because I was burning with curiosity to see the woman for whom he had discarded poor Clarice, and had no scruples about gratifying myself in any way that offered.
At five I went to my dinner, found Pierre polishing the plate, but no appearance of food.
"Master will dine at seven to-day, and hopes monsieur will not be incommoded by the change," he said.
"Am I to join them as usual, then?" I asked, surprised.
"Oh yes; the arrival of young madame will alter nothing but Monsieur Noel's spirits, I believe."
At half-past six o'clock a carriage rolled up the avenue, and from behind a group of larches on the lawn I watched the arrival. Pierre came smiling to the door as Noel led a lady up the steps. A slender, dainty little lady she seemed, but her face was hidden by the white vail which covered her blonde bonnet, and all I could discover of her figure, under a flowing white burnous, was that it was slight and graceful.
