She was like one stunned. What she had longed for, yearned for with all the intensity of her soul, was laid at her feet at last. But it was too late.
His love was offered her now, when she dared not claim it, dared not accept it.
Ida rose the next morning with a heavy heart. She had slept the sleep of exhaustion.
Eugene was surprised when she came down to the table, she looked so changed. There were heavy circles under her eyes, as though she had been weeping.
He could not understand her. He was quite sure she would meet him with a happy, blushing face and downcast eyes. Ida would be glad when she could escape his wondering eyes. An hour later she was standing at the window of the morning-room, which opened out on the terrace, her mind in a tumult, when she heard Eugene's voice at the other end of the room. She knew instinctively that he was looking for her. Only two days ago she would have waited there for him—would have eagerly sought the opportunity of a few words with him; but now she hastily unfastened the long French window, and fled out into the grounds.
Eugene saw the flutter of the white figure hurrying down the terrace.
"She wishes to escape an encounter with me," he thought; and he was puzzled.
Ida went to the further end of the garden, where the tall rose-bushes hid her from human eyes. She sat down upon a little rustic bench and tried to think. But her brain grew confused.
Only a short time ago she had cried out to Heaven to give her the love of Eugene Mallard. Now that it was laid at her feet, what should she do?