He bowed very politely, and answered, in a voice that she alone could hear, "You will receive a note from me at your room within half an hour." Then, bowing again, he walked rapidly away.
She saw from his grave face and unsympathetic eyes that she had lost him.
Half desperate, and with the instinct of self-preservation, she passed out on the piazza to bid Arnault good-night, as she tried to assure herself, with pallid lips, but ready then at last to take any terms from him. Arnault was not to be seen. After a moment her father stepped to her side and said:
"Stella, it is late. You had better retire."
"I wish to say good-night to Mr. Arnault," she faltered.
"Mr. Arnault has gone."
"Gone where?" she gasped.
"I don't know. As the clock struck twelve he came rapidly out and walked away. He passed by me, but would not answer when I spoke to him. Come, let me take you to your room."
With a chill at heart almost like that of death she went with him, and sat down pale and speechless.
In a few moments a note was brought to Mr. Wildmere's door, and he took it to his daughter. She could scarcely open it with her nerveless fingers, and when she read the brief words—