"Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes," said aunty, and Norine got wearily up, and bathed her face, brushed out her tangled curls, shrinking guiltily from her own pallid face in the glass.
"How wretchedly haggard I look," she thought, drearily; "surely every one who looks at me will read my guilt in my face."
She went down stairs. Aunt Hetty nearly dropped the sweet, smelling plate of hot muffins at sight of her.
"You're whiter than a ghost, child!" she cried. "You told me you were better."
"I am better, aunty. Oh, pray don't mind my looks. Last night's headache has made me pale—I will be as well as ever after breakfast."
But breakfast was only a pretence as far she was concerned, and the day wore on and the fair, young face kept its pallid, startled look. She could do nothing, neither read or sew, she wandered about the house like a restless spirit, only shrinking from that Bluebeard's chamber, where all the wedding finery was spread. How was she to meet Mr. Gilbert, and the fleeting hours were hurrying after one another, as hours never had hurried before.
The afternoon sun dropped low, the noises in the fields grew more and more subdued, the cool evening wind swept up from the distant sea. Norine sat in the wicker chair in the garden under the old apple-tree and waited—waited as a doomed prisoner might the coming of the executioner. A book lay idle an her lap, she could not read, she sat there waiting—waiting—waiting, and schooling herself for the ordeal.
Presently, far off on the white road, rose up a cloud of dust, there came the rolling of wheels, she caught a glimpse of a carriage. She clasped her hands together and strove to steady herself. At last he was here. Out of the dusty cloud came a buggy, whirling rapidly up to the gate—out of the buggy came Richard Gilbert, his eager face turned towards her. His quick eye had espied her; she rose up to meet him, calm in the very depth of desperation. Mr. Gilbert sprang out and caught both her hands in his.
"My dear, dear girl! My own Norine! how glad I am to be with you once more! But how pale you look. Have you been ill?"
"Oh, no—that is—only my old friend, headache. Here comes Aunty Hetty and Uncle Reuben to welcome you."