Joyce's lovely countenance grew beatific in its exultation.
"Converse," despairingly, "I give you my word."
"Unless you or the young lady cause it to be otherwise," said the Captain, softly, "the matter may remain private among us four—unless, of course," he supplemented, "the next day or two fails to reveal something substantial to lay before the District Attorney. I do not extend any false hopes. The seriousness of Miss Westbrook's position can scarcely be magnified.... McCaleb, you have heard; act accordingly until you receive other instructions."
"May my sister retire?" asked Doctor Westbrook.
"Certainly. Her movements are not to be restricted or spied upon, or interfered with in any manner or degree—within the house, of course. You understand this, Mac."
The young man nodded. His manner was extremely sober; it was quite patent that he was not insusceptible to the beauty of his charge.
Joyce started slowly toward the door, close by which McCaleb yet stood. She was probably half-way between the group of two—her brother, old and haggard in the chair, the other as menacing and inexorable as Fate,—and the younger man who looked at her with frank pity, when she paused and turned to her brother. There was a faint smile upon her lips; her eyes were soft, and it appeared as if she were about to speak. But before any one of the three could offer her the least assistance, she sank quietly to the floor, unconscious.
BOOK II.
CHARLOTTE FAIRCHILD
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes,
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
—BYRON.