“That is well,” said Berenice briefly, and she slipped out into the fragrant, balmy gloaming, with a sense of relief in the perfect solitude.
She walked down the quiet country road a little way, drawing back into the shadows as a man passed her on his way toward the cottage, reining his horse up there a little later, as she saw to her intense surprise. For a moment, in one hurried glance, she thought she recognized this man. Was he, could he possibly be Adrian Vance, her own mother’s prodigal son, by a former marriage? Ah, no! it was impossible that Adrian should appear on the scene, now, after all these years of absence, during which he had never seen or written to his mother.
“I must not go any farther,” she said, pausing suddenly and sitting down beneath a low-spreading tree, the center of a thick undergrowth of shrubbery. “I will sit here and think over my troubles a while, for my heart misgives me I am not doing right to hold my peace and let Charley’s noble father marry wicked Rosalind. She does not love him, I am sure, and—ah, there are voices. Some one is passing; I hope I shall not be seen.”
She drew back and almost held her breath, seeing through the dark branches that a man and woman were walking together toward her retreat. She started in wonder when she saw that it was Rosalind and the man she had seen on horseback.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
A STOLEN INTERVIEW.
“I must not go any farther, and I cannot stay out long, for I must not be missed. Let us stop here under the trees and talk a little while, but it was wrong and foolish for you to come, Adrian,” said Rosalind.
“But I could not stay away. I love you too well!” cried the passionate lover, and before she could reply, he continued:
“I was wild to see you and to hear how old Moneybags, as you call him, looks since he had the smallpox. I am hoping he is so badly pitted and ugly that you are disgusted and ready to throw him over.”
Berenice held her breath; she knew it was wrong to listen, but curiosity got the better of courtesy.
“He is homely enough, I assure you, to disgust any squeamish person,” answered Rosalind, with a laugh, “but I would marry him if he were the Old Boy himself, with all that money.”