The girl threw herself upon her knees and caught her dress.
“Oh! you do not know him!” she cried. “You have not seen him as I have done to-day, when he spoke of you. I—I—am afraid for you, my mistress! I tremble for you! Here, at your feet, I implore you to say him nay!”
Tears were in the upturned eyes and soon rolled down the cheeks—tears were in the voice that besought her to “say him nay.”
But the now thoroughly aroused and passionate heart heeded not the voice. The volcano, still so long, had burst forth again.
She tore her dress from the figure crouching at her feet, and, thrusting the note into Alice’s reluctant hands, bade her rise and at once go forth upon her errand, carrying those words that would bring him to her in less than an hour. Turning at the door, the girl lifted her hand and said:
“Oh! Gwendoline,—let me call you so this once—pause before you act—remember my fate—think of me!”
“Go! go!” she cried, wildly. “I can think of nothing but him!” and, throwing her arms out across the table before her, she buried her face in them as the door closed.
When the maid returned, she found her mistress tossing over the wardrobe, looking here and there for some dress to suit her fancy.
“Make me beautiful, oh! make me beautiful!” she ever murmured, as Alice stood, with trembling heart and hands, to do her bidding. At last, she was ready. She had selected a white directoire of soft material, clinging to her form, falling from her shoulders in graceful folds and open at the throat to show the whiteness of her skin. No jewelry of any kind adorned her person, and she looked like a lovely statue as she stood in the subdued light of her sitting-room, waiting for the footsteps she had thought never to hear again.
Alice, lingering in the passage, opened the door to him; then she slipped away to solitude and tears.