How good he was to her—her handsome young lover—how solicitous, how tender, how devoted! She could lay her hand shyly on his shoulder, in these calm twilights, and nestle down in his arms, and feel that life held something unutterably sweet and blissful for her still.
As for Everard, he lived at the rectory. He rode home every night, and he mostly breakfasted at the Court; but to all intents and purposes he dwelt at the parsonage.
"Where the treasure is, there will the heart be also"; and my lady, now that things were settled, and the journey to Constantinople postponed indefinitely, had sunk into a state of sulky displeasure, and was satirical, and scornful, and contemptuous, and stately, and altogether exquisitely disagreeable.
Lady Louise had left Devonshire, and gone back to shine brilliantly in
London society once more.
Miss Hunsden went to France with the portly old house-keeper and the devoted young baronet. Mme. Beaufort received her ex-pupil with very French effusion.
"Ah, my angel! so pale, so sad, so beautiful! I am distracted at the appearance! But we will restore you. The change, the associations—all will be well in time."
The lonely young creature clung to her lover with passionate abandon.
"Don't go back just yet, Everard," she implored. "Let me get used to being alone. When you are with me I am content, but when you go, and I am all alone among these strangers—"
But he needed no pleading—he loved her entirely, devotedly. He promised anything—everything! He would remain in Paris the whole year of probation, if she wished, that he might see her at least every week.
She let him go at last, and stole away in the dusky gloaming to her allotted little room. She locked the door, sat down by the table, laid her face on her folded arms, and wet them with her raining tears.