That moon overhead seldom looked down upon fairer scene, or a more well-favoured couple, than the pair who were now leaning over the rustic railings, and gazing at the prospect beneath them—or rather, the man was looking at the girl, and the girl was looking at the sea. Doubtless moon-shine idealizes the human form, just as it casts a glamour over the landscape; but at the present moment Helen appears almost as beautiful as her world-renowned namesake. Her lovely eyes have a fathomless, far-away expression, her pure, clear-cut profile is thrown into admirable relief by the glossy dark leaves of a neighbouring orange-tree. In her simple muslin dress, with its soft lace ruffles, and a row of pearls round her throat, she seemed the very type of a modest English maiden (no painted columbine this!), and, perhaps, a little out of place amid her Eastern surroundings. She continued to gaze straight before her, with her hands crossed on the top of the railing, and her eyes fixed on the sea. As she gazed, a boat shot out of the dim shadows, and across the white moonlit track, then passed into obscurity again.
"Thinking as usual, Miss Denis?" said her companion.
"Yes," she answered rather reluctantly, "thinking of something that I must say to you, and wondering how I am to say it."
"Is it much worse than last time?" he inquired with a smile (but there was an inflection of eagerness in his voice).
"Oh! quite different."
"Ah, she is going to announce that she is engaged to Quentin," he said to himself with a sharp twinge.
"Do you find it so very hard to tell me?" he inquired in a studiously indifferent tone.
"Yes, very hard; but I must. I owe you much, Mr. Lisle—and—I am your—friend—I wish to warn you." Suddenly sinking her voice to a whisper, she added,—"Mrs. Creery has had a letter about YOU!"
"Containing any startling revelations, any bad news?"
"Yes," she returned faintly. "Bad news. Oh, Mr. Lisle,—I am so sorry!"