Salome fell into a deep reverie. From that hour she had something else to think about, beside the convent and the vail.
The portrait haunted her imagination, the story filled her heart and employed her thoughts. That night she dreamed of the self-exiled heir, a beautiful, vague, delightful dream, that she tried in vain to recall on the next morning.
In the course of the day she made several attempts to ask Mrs. Girzie Ross a simple question. And she wondered at her own hesitation to do it. At length she asked it:
"Mrs. Ross, is that portrait in the tower very much like Lord Arondelle?"
"Like him, young leddy? Why, it is his verra sel'! And only not sae bonny because it canna move, or smile, or speak. Ye should see him alive to ken him weel," said the housekeeper, heartily.
That afternoon Salome went up alone to the top of the tower, and spent a dreamy, delicious hour in sitting at the feet of the portrait and gazing upon the face.
That evening, while the housekeeper attended her at tea, she took courage to make another inquiry, in a very low voice:
"Is Lord Arondelle engaged, Mrs. Ross?"
She blushed crimson and turned away her head the moment she had asked the question.
"Engaged? What—troth-plighted do you mean, young leddy?"