"Oh, yes, and one palpable enough to any person who has eyes. Just look yonder, and you will see for yourself."
Mr. Bernard involuntarily raised his eyes, and glanced at the spot indicated. At a side-table, a little apart from the others, Agnes was seated, looking over a large and elegant portfolio, the peculiar beauties of whose admirable engravings, Ernest Clifford seemed eagerly pointing out, as he bent over her chair; his handsome countenance lit up with a smile of pleasurable emotion.
"Ah, yes, I understand you now, Maria. But I heard Mr. Bernard had some partiality that way."
"Hush, speak lower, for he is standing at the table near you."
"Oh, dear me, I had no idea he was so handy."
"That was mere idle gossip, I assure you," was the reply, as the tones sank into a whisper. "I have the best evidence in the world as to that."
"Well, well, they will make a handsome couple, I must say," remarked Maria's companion, as Mr. Bernard moved away with a firm step, which gave no indication of the mental agony that was rending his soul.
Glad to make his escape, he stepped out from an open window in the balcony, and from thence descended, by a short flight of marble steps, into the large and thickly-shaded garden, which it overlooked.
With a feverish step he traversed its winding walks, until wearied he sank on a rustic seat, beneath the welcome shade of a graceful elm. The sounds of music and mirth came wafted to him through the open casement, and never seemed they less congenial to his feelings.
"If I could only think it some of that ill-natured woman's gossip, I would not care," he said, half aloud, "for the mind that could indite such an epistle as Ella received, containing the account of Agnes's supposed death, would be capable of anything,—but, alas, I fear it is too true.