"So, Mademoiselle de Castella," he broke forth, "you have been enjoying a stolen interview with your lover! I must beg your pardon for having unintentionally interrupted it."
She turned deprecatingly to him; she did not speak, or defend herself from the charge; but the look of anguish on her countenance was so keen, the glance at himself so full of pure, truthful love, that the gentleman's better nature revolted at the temper he had shown, and he caught her to his heart.
"But they were cruel words," she sobbed; "and just now I have enough to bear."
"Let this be my peace-offering, my darling," he said, placing in her hand the French marigold.
St. John had long ago heard the tale of the French marigold, and Miss Rose Darling's sombre forebodings touching himself. He had been assiduously cultivating the flower in the garden at the Lodge, and this, that he now gave to Adeline, was the first which had appeared.
"This ring, Adeline," he said, drawing it from her finger. "He placed it there, I suppose?"
"You saw him doing so," she answered.
He slipped it into his waistcoat pocket, and then drew out his watch.
"Give me back the ring, Frederick."
"No, Adeline. It shall never encircle your finger again."