"Yes, sweet sister, your boy-friend, Louis, home again."
"Oh, Louis, I am so glad!" she said, lifting her cloudless blue eyes to his, radiant with delight.
"Then you have not forgotten me? I feared you had," he said, bending over her, and holding fast the little hand that lay imprisoned in his.
"Forget you!—oh, no," she said, her heart fluttering wildly that moment against a little golden cross—his parting gift, which had lain on her bosom all those years.
There was a look of eager delight on his face at her words. She saw it, and grew embarrassed. Withdrawing her hand from his, she said, in a more composed voice:
"When did you arrive?"
"About a week ago. I would have gone to see you, but the weather was so disagreeable," he replied, with a pang of regret and remorse for his neglect.
"Yes, so it was," said Celeste, sincerely; for, having no morbid self-love to be wounded, his excuse seemed the most natural thing in the world.
"And how is my old friend, Miss Hagar?" he asked, drawing her arm within his, and leading her toward the conservatory, now almost deserted.
"Oh, quite well. She will be delighted to see you."