"I am sure I do not know. I suppose you may, if you wish," she replied, ingenuously.
"Oh, go, by all means," said Gipsy, who overheard them. "Anything to keep them away from Minnette," she muttered inwardly.
Accordingly, shortly after the carriage was brought round. Louis handed Celeste in, took the reins, and drove off, unconscious that Minnette, from her chamber window, was watching them, with a look that would have appalled him had he seen it.
That drive home—to what an unheard-of length was it prolonged! Had he been training his horses for a funeral, Louis could not have driven them slower. He had so many things to tell her; wild yet beautiful German legends—of the glorious skies of glorious Italy—of the vine-clad hills of sunny Spain—of gay, gorgeous Paris—and of the happy homes of "merrie England." And Celeste, lying back among the cushions, with half-closed eyes, drank in his low-toned, eloquent words—listened to the dangerous music of his voice—with a feeling unspeakably delicious, but hitherto unknown. She saw not the burning glances of his dark eyes, as they rested on her fair face, but yielded herself up to his magnetic influence without attempting to analyze her feelings.
They reached Valley Cottage all too soon. Louis handed her out, and entered the cottage after her.
Miss Hagar sat in her old seat, as though she had never moved from it.
"Good-morning, dear Miss Hagar," said Celeste, kissing her so affectionately that Louis inwardly wished he could become an old woman forthwith. "See—I have brought a stranger home with me."
Louis stood smiling before her. She raised her solemn, prophetic gray eyes to his face, with a long, earnest gaze.
"Louis Oranmore!" she exclaimed—"welcome home!"
He raised the withered hand she extended so respectfully to his lips that a radiant glance of gratitude from the blue eyes of Celeste rewarded him.