Several days had passed since the occurrence of the events mentioned above, when on a fair morning, a pale youth sat in a recess at the bottom of the merchant’s garden. A staff stood by his side, an evidence that he was not yet able to walk without support, and his white attenuated hands were pressed together in his lap, while his large blue eyes, which looked nearly black when contrasted with his white brow, were fixed upon some object in the distance. His gaze rested on the dwelling place of Senor del Castro; but what were his reflections, we cannot pretend to divine; nor was he long permitted to indulge them without interruption.
From behind a cluster of bushes near, sailed out a figure in a white dress, which floating gently towards the invalid, placed one hand upon his arm, and caused him to turn suddenly towards her.
‘Mr. Monteagle, I’m glad to see you abroad once more. Oh! it looks so much more natural to see you up and stirring, that it really reminds me of old times.’
With a smile slightly sarcastic, the youth replied—‘I am but too happy to be the cause of reviving pleasant reminiscences in the mind of Miss Vandewater.’
A deep blush passed over the cheek and brow of the fair girl as she replied: ‘You are very severe, sir. I will say then, in downright English, since I must, that I am rejoiced to see you improved in health, with a fair chance of recovery. Now, Mr. Critic, are you satisfied?’
‘Oh! no doubt I ought to be, since Miss Vandewater has used the commonly approved phrase which custom has made necessary for all like occasions.’
‘Nay, then I will send Inez del Castro to you: no doubt she will do the honors of the occasion better—at least her mode will be more original than mine.’
Miss Vandewater uttered the latter part of the sentence in a quick, hurried manner, and in spite of herself, delivered the word ‘original’ in a tone of considerable bitterness. The tears rose to her eyes, and she blushed deeper than ever. It was plain that she would have given much to recall her words and manner; but it was too late. The youth looked down and sighed.
The young lady heard that sigh, and it seemed to restore her to all her dignity. She lifted her head and shook back the flaxen curls from her snowy brow. ‘I know that you are not acquainted with Inez, though she—fainted in your arms! It was very romantic.’
Monteagle had great self-possession; but he was obliged to turn his face partly aside to conceal an expression of surprise and sorrow at the broad raillery into which the young lady suffered herself to be betrayed by feelings too palpable to be mistaken. The many instances in which she had evinced jealousy of any attention showed by Monteagle to other ladies, had long since let him into the secret—if secret it could be called.