"The first view of the castle, Leslie!"
Leslie bent forward eagerly and a faint cry of amazement and delight escaped her.
"Oh, Yorke, how lovely, how lovely!" she murmured. "I had no idea it was so large or so beautiful. It is an Aladdin's palace! And look, Yorke, there is an arch of flowers! How kind of them! Oh——," she drew a long breath and sank back. "I think I am a little frightened by it all!"
He leant his arm on the side of the carriage and looked at her with a smile on his lips, and the light of a passionate love in his eyes.
The view before them was beautiful enough in all conscience, but the loveliness beside him transcended it! Six months of such happiness as falls to few mortals had done wonders for Leslie. It had brought back the color to her face, the light to her eyes, the music of youth's joy and love's ecstasy to her voice. It was the Leslie of Portmaris with something added, a something too delicately intangible for words, but the charm of which all felt who met and talked with her.
If it was possible Yorke had grown to love her with a deeper and more passionate love since their marriage, and his pride in her beauty had verged on the ridiculous; and sometimes Leslie, made to blush under his gaze, would put her hands over her eyes. The intensity of his love almost frightened her; and she was as one who fears for the safety of a precious vase which fate may overturn or some malignant wand cast from its pedestal and shatter.
The six months of happiness had wrought wonders for Yorke also. The wan and haggard, the hopeless, listless expression had vanished from his face, and in its place was a look of contentment and youthful energy which gave him back all the brightness that had helped to win Leslie's heart.
It was, indeed, the old Yorke with his ready laugh and jest who sat beside his sweetheart-wife, as they bowled toward their future home.
"There you are!" he said presently. "You can see the terrace now. By George, what a mob! It's a regular reception! There'll be a speech for certain! Do you think you are equal to returning thanks, my lady? Just think over a few 'graceful phrases,' as the newspapers put it—something neat and short."
"Oh, don't Yorke!" she pleaded. "If you knew how my heart was beating——."