There was over a week of the beautiful weather that midsummer brings, and the days passed full of gayety. Both Archdale and his mother did everything for the enjoyment of their guests. They showed them the most beautiful views on shore, and by sailing took them to places of interest not to be reached by land, while dinner-parties and garden-parties made them acquainted with the best society of the city. From morning until night the house was full of talk, and jest, and laughter. Among the guests one day had been Mr. Royal and Mrs. Eveleigh. They had come with Colonel and Madam Pepperell, at whose house they were then visiting, in accordance with a promise made the autumn before when the Colonel and his wife had been guests of Mr. Royal. More than once, Elizabeth had met the party from Seascape, but she could not come here, she was not sure enough in her heart of not being Stephen Archdale's wife. She compromised with her father by promising to go to Colonel Archdale's, for that gentleman had told them that they were to be asked there.
"Elizabeth was right not to come," Madam Pepperell had said to her guest on the way to Seascape. "There are people small enough to have said that she was making an inventory."
"Not any of the Archdale family?" inquired Mr. Royal.
"Not mother or son, certainly. As to the Colonel, it is easy to see that he admires Elizabeth."
"Um!" commented Elizabeth's father.
Colonel Archdale at this time was away a good deal upon business. When he was at home he usually rode over to his son's house to dine. But he resolved to give a dinner party himself, and it was to this that Elizabeth Royal had promised to come. Madam Archdale being thus obliged to preside over two houses at once was full of secret uneasiness as to how matters would turn out, and for three mornings before the event excused herself to her guests from breakfast until dinner, and drove home to superintend arrangements. Dinner parties were frequent at that house, and there was not much danger that anything would go wrong. Still, the Colonel was unusually critical, and his wife had her anxieties. On the whole, Sir Temple Dacre enjoyed himself most of anyone at that time, he gave himself up to observation and a proper amount of attention to his dinners, which he remarked to his wife were for provincial affairs uncommonly good. Lord Bulchester, trying to follow Edmonson's meanings, had a feeling of uncertainty which, as it did not rest upon a foundation of faith, such as used to underlie all his considerations of his friend's actions, ended by making him somewhat uncomfortable. Edmonson kept to himself whatever clue he had gained, or whatever ground for suspicion he had that one object of his visit to the Colonies was nearing its accomplishment. He kept to himself also as much as possible the fact that his eyes were constantly following Elizabeth whenever they had opportunity, for the new position in which she was placed had called forth unexpected resources in her which made her well-poised in bearing and manner. "She is great in reserve forces," he said to himself, swearing under his breath that she was growing more fascinating every time that he saw her, and for this he made opportunities as well as found them. Stephen Archdale with his alternations of gloom and gayety and the ubiquitousness necessary to a host, had begun to find this direction of Edmonson's eyes a matter that roused some slight speculation. His glances followed the arrowy glances of his guest to see what marks they made. But he saw nothing, except that Miss Royal avoided Edmonson as much as she could in courtesy, and that she seldom met his eyes fully. From these things both young men drew their conclusions, which were somewhat alike, and should both have been subject to correction. More than once they measured one another covertly, and from the heart of him who feared that he had lost her there stretched out toward the other a terrible shadow which in the wavering of his changing thoughts grew, and lessened, and grew again, and sometimes reached forward and clutched with its hideous hands, and then drew back, and crouched, and waited.
It was a perfect summer night when Elizabeth leaned out of her window into the stillness. The roar of the surf was as distinct as if it came from the pebbled beach below; yet, modulated by distance, it formed the base, sustained and rythmic, into which there fell harmoniously that legato treble of murmur which makes us seem to hear the stillness, and that staccato note of some accidental sound softened to accord with the mood of the night. She needed the peace that she felt in the air, for her cheeks were wet with passionate tears and her lips still trembled. She could give utterance to her trouble now, she was free for hours from every ear, from every eye, hidden away from all but the sight and hearing of the God she sought in the dark and the silence.
Brought up in the creed of the Puritans, believing it entirely, as she supposed, there was yet in her heart when she sent it Heavenward a joy which sprang from a more loving faith. Perhaps it was because of her own beautiful human associations with the name that at the words "Our Father," her heart swelled with confidence that God listened to her voice, and that his loving kindness wrapped her about. If her prayers were not always granted as she wished, she perceived that the hands she stretched out in pleading were never drawn back empty, for when they did not hold her requests, they were filled with what was to be given her tonight,—courage to meet the trials that she dreaded. The next day's trial was to be the worst of all, for it was then that they were to dine at the Colonel's, and Katie was to be there,—Katie, whom she loved dearly, whom she had robbed so unintentionally, and who would not forgive her. It would be hard for Archdale; but Elizabeth dismissed him from her thoughts, for her heart was-full to overflowing of her own grief, and of Katie. Kneeling there, sobs shook her with an abandonment to her sorrow that was in itself a relief after her restraint. But at last the calmness and the strength of a life greater than its trials fell upon her. And when in the hush of these she went to her bed and fell asleep, it was a face like a child's that the stars shining in at her window looked down upon, a face fallen into lines of peace while the tears were yet undried upon the pale cheeks. But only in its simplicity was it a child's heart that met the next day's sunshine, for the courage of a strong woman looked from Elizabeth Royal's eyes.