A bitter sigh escaped her lips—a sigh that was almost a moan, and as she raised the bouquet and kissed it, the tears fell fast, and lay glistening like rain amidst the petals.
“If he knew; if he knew,” she whispered, “it would be cruel; but he does not know—he never will know, and after to-night this must be as a dream.”
Almost mechanically she took the little square white packet that lay on the garden seat by her side, and breaking the seal, on which was the vicar’s crest, she found a small square morocco case; and when at last her trembling fingers had pressed the snap and raised the lid, there upon pale blue velvet lay a large oval locket, crusted with diamonds and pearls, a costly gift that glistened in the fading light, and beside it a scrap of paper, with the words—
“God bless you! May you be very happy.”
Eve sat with one hand laid upon her bosom to still its throbbings, and then her lips were pressed to the locket—longer still to the scrap of paper, before the case was shut, and she sat gazing up at the first stars in the pale, soft sky.
A low, deep sigh escaped her lips, and then with a weary look round—
“I am stronger now,” she said, and rose to go, but only shrank back in her seat as she heard a rustling noise, and then a thud, as if some one had jumped from the wall, while before she could recover herself, Tom Podmore stood before her.
“Is—is anything wrong?” she gasped; for in her nervous state this sudden apparition suggested untold horrors to her excited brain.
“It’s only me, Miss Eve. I wanted just a word.”
“Why—why did you not come to the house?” she faltered,