Philip bowed and walked out of the official presence as one in a dream. He lost even his own identity as he followed the guide down endless passages and corridors, and heard the jingle of the keys he carried suspended by a ring from his finger.
It seemed to him he was back again at the Folly; he was walking along the paths of Esther's flower-garden, with the stillness and hush of the night above and around him. And now he had reached the little hazel-copse and was pushing back the bough that barred his entrance; there was the marble fountain in the distance, he could hear the drip of the water as it fell from the upraised vase in the boy Narcissus' hands; and there was the rustic bench, and the figure in the flowing, shining, white drapery, that rose up hurriedly and came forward a little, holding the soft laces closely about the white throat and heaving bosom.
Yes, it was Patricia—Patricia in all her regal loveliness, in all her wealth of beauty; with her eyes glowing beneath the dark brows, her mouth tremulous and wistful.
He started forward quickly—the vision faded, the night fled away, the tinkling water-drops resolved themselves into the surly clink of key against key on the warder's ring. All the poetry, and grace, and glory fell away from him, as he found himself brought to a standstill before a heavy door, into the lock of which Woods fitted a key from those on the ring, unlocked it, and with a slight push threw it open.
Philip was conscious of a muttered "I'll be back in an hour, sir," and the noise of a closing door behind him; and then he realised that he was alone—face to face with Patricia.
CHAPTER III.
"FATHOM HER MOTIVES, PHILIP."
"Philip!" she cried, eagerly, and came forward, her hands held out in greeting, and then, as if struck by some sudden remembrance, and with a return to her old imperious manner, she dropped her hands, and turning, walked away from him towards a small table that stood at the further end of the room.
Mr. Tremain remained motionless just within the door, his senses taking in by degrees the surroundings, and growing accustomed to the half gloom that served as an apology for daylight, and that made its way through the narrow barred casement set high up in the whitewashed wall.