"Thank you."
"Before we leave this moonlit spot, however, Miss Heartwell, I beg that you make friends with old Defiance, for my sake, and recall that cruel wish concerning him," he said playfully, and with an arch smile.
Lizzie replied, "For your sake, I will, and for yours only;" and throwing a kiss across the silvery sea, she said, "Take that, old fort, as a peace-offering."
The winds sighed and the sea murmured as they turned to rejoin the revellers, and that sportive kiss was borne away on the wandering breeze.
The revelry must end. Madam's love-bound pupils must be separated. The adieus must be spoken, but there must be no tears; that were a weak and indecorous manifestation of feeling, in madam's estimation. Blandly bowing her stately head, and kindly congratulating each upon having "finished," and finished well, madam gracefully waved them out of her presence, into the future, with a gentle motion of her jewelled hand.
"I shall see you to morrow, Lizzie," whispered Leah Mordecai, as she passed from the seminary escorted by Emile Le Grande.
"Certainly, at any hour, and do not disappoint me. Remember it's the last day."
All were gone. The stars twinkled faintly in the sky. Every light in madam's great house was extinguished, and all sound of that evening's revel hushed forever.
CHAPTER X.
THE morning sun threw its ruddy beams, warm almost to tropical heat, through the half-closed casement of Leah Mordecai's apartment, and the intrusive light opened the dark, dreamy eyes to consciousness. The hour was late. Toil-worn and languid from hard study and the relaxing climate, Leah rested in her bed reluctant to arise.