He pictured the room as it would appear when she entered it, and he settled which of the two easy-chairs he would draw nearer to the fire, and where he would sit himself, so that he could watch the firelight playing on her face; and then—— He covered his face with his hands and shut out the light, the better to understand the cause of the fierce pain that was gnawing at his heart.
It did not take him long to discover what had happened. He, Paul Lessing, a man who had knocked about the world and had mixed with all sorts and conditions of men and women, whose pulses had hitherto never quickened their beating at the touch of a woman's hand or the sound of a voice, found himself, at thirty-one, as helplessly and ridiculously in love as any lad of twenty.
With a smothered exclamation, he pushed back his chair, and began a restless walk up and down the room. Was ever a grown man guilty of such egregious folly before? A great gulf separated him and the woman of his dreams: a gulf that could never be bridged over. In tastes and in circumstances they were separated far as the poles. His love was perfectly hopeless; and yet the notion of her marrying another, and removing herself entirely out of his reach, was intolerable to him. But, as an effectual cure of his madness, he knew that it was the best thing that could happen to him. The remedy was a sharp one, but it would be complete.
"A few days must settle it, and, until then, I need not meet her," said Paul, aloud. "I won't stay in this afternoon; business can take me to the farm."
In another minute he had gone into the village street, almost deserted this afternoon, for most of the villagers had wandered up to the church. Paul's road lay in the same direction; and he walked along with rapid strides, his head bent upon his breast, his heart busied with his new discovery, and the thought how best to live it down. He was mingling with the crowd now, that had gathered round the church-gate waiting for the procession of clergy that was just filing out of the church. From inside came the throb of the organ and the sound of singing; but Paul went upon his way, neither lifting his head nor staying his steps, when a familiar voice close at hand arrested his attention.
"Mr. Paul! I'm so glad you've come! I can't see anything; lift me up, please!"
Paul started as he saw that he had nearly tumbled over his friend Kitty, whose invalid carriage was drawn up as near to the gate as possible.
"Poor Kitty! And you want to look at the Bishop and his lawn sleeves, and the girls in their caps, like all the rest of the village," he said, bending over and lifting her high in his strong arms.
"Yes. I suppose you've come to see the Bishop too?" said Kitty, with a sigh of contentment. "He's very nice, indoors; but oh! he's lovely when he's got his scarlet coat on. But daddy says I must not think about the clothes, but about all the boys and girls whom he will bless to-day. They'll promise to be good, you know."
"Hush! hush!" said Paul, for the procession was upon them. And Kitty, carried away by the thrill of the voices, steadied herself in Paul's arms by clasping hers about his neck, and sang lustily with the rest—