He followed her progress with wistful eyes and tense lips.
It was indeed the stately mistress of the mansion. Wearying of its warmth and luxury, she had come out, wrapped in sealskin, for her favorite constitutional along the cedar avenue.
She walked slowly, with her hands behind her, and her large, flashing dark eyes bent on the ground, as if in profound thought.
Everard Dawn gazed eagerly after Mrs. Varian till she was lost to view among the cedars, then, searching for a gate in the hedge, he entered and turned his steps toward the avenue, so as to meet her on her lonely walk.
Slowly they came on toward each other, the echo of their footsteps dulled by the carpet of dead leaves, dank and sodden with last night’s rain, and the face of the man, with its gleaming eyes and deep pallor, bore signs of unusual agitation.
Suddenly the lowering clouds parted, and a dull sunset glow sent gleams of light down through the cedar boughs upon the sodden path. The woman lifted her large, passionate orbs to the sky.
Then she stopped short and uttered a startled cry.
She had caught sight of the advancing man, the intruder upon her grounds.
He removed his hat and stood bowing before her in the dying sunset glow, the light shining on his pallid face and the streaks of gray in his thick locks.
“Mrs. Varian!” he exclaimed.