She was sitting in front of the fire in the great drawing-room that retained all the original decorations of the Brothers Adam, and she was wearing something beautifully simple—something creamy, with old lace. The furniture of the room also belonged to the period of the Adams, and on the walls were a number of coloured engravings by Bartolozzi after Cipriani and Angelica Kauffmann.
She was in his arms in a moment. She gave herself to him as naturally and as artlessly as though she were a child; and he held her close to him, looking down upon her face without uttering a word—kissing her mouth conscientiously, her shell-pink cheeks earnestly, her forehead scrupulously, and her chin playfully.
This was how he opened the interview which he had arranged to part them for ever.
Then they both drew a long breath simultaneously, and both laughed in unison.
Then he held her away from him for a few seconds, looking upon her exquisite face. Again he kissed her—but this time solemnly and with something of the father about the action.
“At last—at last,” he said.
“At last,” she murmured in reply.
“It seems to me that I have never seen you before,” said he. “You seem to be a different person altogether. I do not remember anything of your face, except your eyes—no, by heavens! your eyes are different also.”
“It was dark as midnight in the depths of that seal-cave,” she whispered.
“You mean that—ah, yes, my beloved! If I could have seen your eyes at that moment I know I should have found them full of the light that I now see in their depths. You remember what I said to you on the morning after your arrival at the Castle? Your eyes meant everything to me then—I knew it—beatitude or doom.”