"To-morrow, then," says 'Duke, with a long sigh.
CHAPTER XXIX.
As I cross the threshold and enter the old hall at Strangemore, a great passionate rush of unrestrainable rapture flows over me. Sudden recollections and emotions threaten to overpower me. I am at home, at rest, at last! With an impulsive movement I put my hand to my heart. Each well-remembered object sends out to me a thousand welcomes. With silent joy I greet them.
Yet, compelled by the strange wilfulness that sorrow and loneliness have bred within me, I conceal all this from Marmaduke, and, returning the servants' salutations with a courtesy kind but subdued, I go slowly up the stairs and into my own room.
All is changed. I pause and gaze around me with much wonder. Carpets, curtains all are unfamiliar, and where white once mingled with the gold, pale pink appears.
The doors beyond are flung wide. What was formerly 'Duke's dressing-room is now transformed into a boudoir, while the apartment beyond that again is an exquisitely furnished reception-room.
In the boudoir a small fire burns, and though we may count ourselves now well into the summer, still the bright flames look warm and homelike, and involuntarily I stretch out my hands to their friendly warmth.
A knock at the door. Instead of calling out. "Come in," I go forward, and, opening it, find myself face to face with my husband.
"You will not come down to dinner?" he says; but his tone is a question almost an entreaty.
"No!" I return, ungratefully; "I am too tired. I shall be better alone."