"My child, I am grieved to see you unhappy. This young Englishman was attractive, and it is natural, perhaps, that you should regret him: but his departure renders your course of duty all the more easy."
The priest thought he had gone for good, then! Adeline was silent: but she could have thrown herself on the good priest's breast and wept out her sorrow.
"It is well that he should thus have terminated it, my poor child. Nothing but fruitless dissatisfaction could have attended his remaining. Never, under any circumstances, could you have allowed yourself to espouse one of the heretical faith. Best as it is, my child! May the care of all the saints be given to you!"
When the fourth morning arose and did not bring St. John, Adeline's state grew distressing. To what compare her restless anxiety? You are all familiar with the old tale of Bluebeard. "Sister Anne, Sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?"
"Alas, my sister, I see only the dust from a flock of sheep."
"Sister Anne, Sister Anne, can you see anybody coming?"
Thus it was with Adeline. When her eyes ached with looking out, and she retired momentarily to ease them, it would be, "Rose, Rose, do you see him coming?"
"No, I don't see a soul."
And then, "Mary! go to the window. Can you see him coming?"
And the day passed like the others, and he never came. It was, indeed, an anxious time with her. Left to herself, the marriage would inevitably take place, for, unsupported by St. John, she should not dare to oppose her father. But, on the fifth morning--ah, what relief!--he returned. Adeline, dear girl, look at him: what do you read? A self-possessed step of triumph, a conscious smile on his fine features, a glance of assured satisfaction in his truthful eye. He comes, indeed, as St. John of Castle Wafer.