"Oh, Frank!"
And Eros and Anteros at last kissed each other.
I was alone in the drawing-room, the happiest mortal beneath the roof of Silverdale. Daphne had gone off to change her dress. She was going to help the guests in their work of decorating the church with holly and other Christmas emblems. As the party were to lunch at the Vicarage, they would be absent a considerable part of the day.
My language implied that I was not going to form one of this party. Such was the case. With many expressions of regret for my seeming want of gallantry on this day of all others, I had claimed indulgence of Daphne to remain behind at the Abbey on the fictitious plea that Sir Hugh was desirous of consulting my uncle and myself together with some speculator from London, on the formation of a company for the purpose of working a vein of lead recently discovered on the Silverdale estate. The truth was that the Baronet had determined to avail himself of the absence of his guests to make a thorough search for the lost picture, and I was desirous of helping him.
It was not without a mental struggle that I consented to forego the pleasure of Daphne's companionship for several hours, but my anxiety to penetrate the mystery surrounding the missing picture was so great that it overcame the fascination even of love.
The sound of approaching voices told me that the doctor and the Baronet were entering the drawing-room.
"And so," remarked the latter, "you have made up your mind to go to the church?"
"Yes," replied the doctor, drawing on a pair of gloves; "though not from any particular wish to aid in the decorating."
"No?"
"No! A very different motive takes me there. Your young friend, the artist Vasari, is going."