"Yes, I met him a few days ago; he was in the church when Mr. Blake was singing," observed Cecilia, in a low tone. "I heard him speak--what a beautiful voice."
"Ah! I know the reason of the blush, now," thought Beaumont; "she loves him. Good Heavens! what a hopeless passion! She loves Nestley, and he loves Una Challoner. How tricky Dan Cupid is, to be sure."
As he had made no answer, the blind girl went on speaking.
"As I cannot see a face, I always guess what it is like by the voice. Doctor Nestley has a beautiful speaking voice--is his face handsome?"
"Rather handsome," said Beaumont, now seized with a cruel desire to fan the flame of hopeless love which burned in this blind woman's heart. "Yes, I suppose a woman would call his face handsome--but it's rather sad."
"Sad!" echoed Cecilia, in a startled tone; "why is his face sad?"
Beaumont shrugged his shoulders.
"Ouf!" he replied, coolly, "how should I know?--because his soul is sad, I presume. The face is the index of the mind, you know. I daresay it runs this way--his face is sad because his soul is sad, and the soul-sadness is caused by a sad life."
"Is he unhappy, then?" asked Cecilia, breathlessly.
"I should say not--now," said Beaumont, with emphasis, "but when I knew him in London a few years ago he had met with many reverses of fortune."