Peace’s brain seemed to be on fire, his knees knocked together, and his whole frame shook with ill-suppressed passion.
“Tom Gatliffe, as I’m a living man!” he exclaimed. “He then is my rival, the sneaking hound! Ah, if I had only known this before!”
He ground his teeth with rage, and watched the lovers with the eyes of a basilisk.
It would have been too plainly perceptible, even to a casual observer, to say nothing of the penetrating and suspicious glance of Peace, that the young lady in the alcove lent an attentive ear to the soft, low sentences breathed by her male companion.
Peace became furious as he gazed upon the loving pair; nevertheless, he found it impossible to leave the spot. The foliage behind which he hid was sufficiently dense to screen him, but even if this had not been the case, he was wound up to such a state of desperation that he would not have much cared had the faithless Aveline and her companion become aware of his position behind his leafy screen.
Indeed, the thought crossed his mind more than once, of emerging from his place of concealment and confronting them.
But, upon second consideration, he came to the conclusion that no possible good could result from such a course of action, and therefore determined to keep where he was till the interview was over.
He would watch and wait.
The conversation was carried on between the two for some time, after which they both rose and walked slowly towards the house.
Peace was not sufficiently near to hear a word they said, but he judged, rightly enough, that their discourse was a pleasant one—being, in fact, made up of those airy nothings which are the golden dreams of life’s morning.