So they dreamt of love, finding it the sweeter after past loneliness and troubles, and strengthener, too, for those that lay before. And the melancholy of that grey land touched them not at all, though Celtic blood ran in the veins of both.
But it was the romance of youth's fairest dream, the springtime of love, that was with them now, and they were blind to falling leaves and the dirge of coming gloom after summer sunshine.
It was Pierre who broke the spell of an enchanted hour,—Pierre, who came hurrying back along the path with furrowed brow and anxious eyes.
Monsieur le Marquis was not at the Manor. No one had seen him. In fact, the two Messieurs, who said before that they were his friends, had laughed at him.
But now M'nsieur le Comte had ridden over from Kérnak, and desired to see both M. le Marquis and Mademoiselle. He was in haste, M'nsieur le Comte.
The sunshine was fading in Gabrielle's eyes. Shadows were stealing back into hazel depths as she looked up at Michael Berrington.
"What does it mean?" she asked, and turned quickly to Pierre.
"He has not brought Mademoiselle Cécile?"
"No, Mademoiselle; Monsieur le Comte is alone. His business seems to be very urgent. He is eager to see M'nsieur le Marquis and you."
"I will come. But—but——"