“Not if it is to interfere with any necessary business,” madam said, hastily, yet decidedly.
“It will not. I have no business—I have no aim in life now,” he added, bitterly.
“Come with us to the mountains,” Madam Sylvester said, with a sudden thought. “You need a little judicious comforting as well as Miss Dalton, and I believe I am just the one to take you in hand. Will you come?”
“Yes, thanks; I cannot resist. I believe you charm every one with whom you come in contact,” he answered, laughing, and glad to be invited.
“That is pleasant to hear. We will make our trip as short as possible, and then fly to the far-famed springs of Saratoga, to drink of their mystic waters.”
And so it was arranged, and Paul Tressalia was drawn irresistibly to do this woman’s bidding, yet wondering at himself for doing it, and more and more surprised to see how Editha had fascinated her.
But he could not know how rapidly an invisible hand was turning the pages of life, and that he was soon to read a strange story in that mystic book of fate, which Heaven so seldom deigns to open to mortal eyes.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
AT SARATOGA
Madam Sylvester went to the White Mountains with her party, as she had planned to do, while Mr. Dalton, congratulating himself upon the success of his maneuver—the reason for which he supposed no one but himself knew anything about—was enjoying the brilliant society at Saratoga to the full.
“I flatter myself that I have played my little game very nicely,” he said many times to himself, when thinking of their hasty flitting from Newport; and those soft white hands of his were rubbed together in the most approving manner, accompanied by a most approving chuckle.