“But she told me so herself.”
“I don’t care what she told you. She don’t.”
“My dear, please to remember that Odalite never tells what is not true. And she told me that she wanted to marry Anglesea.”
“Yes, I know. She told me so, too, not ten minutes before you came home. But how can I believe she does when I see that it is breaking her poor heart, and crazing her brain, and killing her? Tell me that.”
“Oh, child! I can tell you nothing!” groaned Le. “I am even more mystified than you are! That this girl, who is truth itself, should insist that she wants to marry a man whose very presence fills her with loathing, is a mystery I cannot fathom!”
The children were by this time seated on a log at the end of the bridge—the same log on which, two weeks before, Odalite had been seated when she was surprised by Col. Anglesea.
Le stood near them, leaning with his back against the railings and his head bowed in deep thought.
Suddenly he started, and threw his hand to his head.
“What’s the matter, Le?” inquired little Elva, while Wynnette stared.
“A remembered dream, or vision, that came to me three times on my homeward voyage,” replied the young man, gravely.