The dreamy, dark eyes rested for a moment in their upturned attitude, the slender hands remained clasped tightly together, but only while the echo lingered of the sweet, sad voice, which had stolen from her lips as a breathing anthem from on high. Guy was mesmerized—lost to everything but the one vision which fascinated his gaze; he had ever been susceptible to beauty's influence—with some people, the silent contemplation of breathing beauty becomes a wild passion, and in Guy Elersley, appreciation of such eloquent loveliness was bordering on this superlative limit—and yet there was so little art about the being he was devouring with such greedy eyes. She wore a plain, neat costume of drab serge, a deep linen collar fastened high at her throat, and deep bands of the same at her wrists; her rich, dark hair was short and crept in large negligent waves over her shapely head, her face was very pale, which contrasted favorably with the dark hair and eyes, and the deep rich color of her well-curved lips. The close-fitting spencer jacket was gathered in with a very broad belt at her small waist, and the neat, heavy skirt fell in uninterrupted, plain folds to her ankles. Suddenly, while Guy watched her, she started as if waking from a lethargy, and turning to the animal that crouched lovingly beside her, she said,—
"Come Sailor dear, we are late for study hour."
Instinctively the brute roused and shook his shaggy fur at the sound of her voice, looking up trustfully into the kind face of his mistress. With a light and fleet step, Fifine turned towards the side entrance of the building, wherein she and her faithful companion vanished in a moment, leaving Guy petrified with silent wonder and admiration on the other side of the lattice work.
It would be impossible to describe the conflict of emotions that passed through Guy Elersley's breast at this moment; the bitter indignation he had felt up to this for Vivian Standish was nothing when compared with the inveterate contempt and hatred that substituted it at sight of this lovely wrecked flower, which he saw pining and withering in beautiful decline, far away from the world she could so easily have dazzled. It was with a dangerous light in his eyes, and a threatening vow in his heart, that Guy knocked this time at the broad hall door. His call was answered by an elderly woman of quiet, reserved appearance, who neither seemed surprised nor concerned by his visit. In as respectful and business-like a manner as possible, Guy asked for the lady directress of the institution, and was immediately shown by this silent noiseless woman into an apartment at the right, where she left him to wait alone in his wonder for a few moments.
The room was scrupulously neat, and tolerably well-furnished, but there was a painful simplicity and provoking fitness and quaintness about the things he saw, that upset his nerves uncomfortably. Every element of furniture was so intensely appropriate, and consistent with all the surroundings; the silence was so settled and sacred, and the noiseless tread of the inmates, as they glided here and there through the passages, almost irritated him. He was soon distracted from these trying observations, however, by the entrance of a dignified haughty-looking woman of about forty years; she was attired in the same simple costume which he had just admired on the young girl in the garden, except that her hair, sprinkled here and there with silver threads, was tucked neatly under an old-fashioned head-dress of muslin that strangely became her handsome face. Still standing a little inside the door-way, this cold, reserved woman looked enquiringly, and waited for Guy to speak his errand, whatever it might be.
"I have intruded here," Guy began with not too much confidence in his colloquial powers, "to enquire for a young girl named Josephine de Maistre, who, I am told was admitted here some time ago. I do not know the young lady personally," Guy frankly avowed, "nor have I ever spoken to her; but I have been entrusted with a very serious duty to discharge relative to her, and if it be not encroaching on your rules, I would be glad to interview the young lady."
An answer came in cold words, from an unmoved face:
"It is not our custom," the stately woman began, "to admit young male visitors to our home without urgent cause for so doing. Show me that you are justified in seeking a deviation from our custom, and I will grant it."
Guy fidgeted with his watch chain, and with a little hesitation which shewed how much he dreaded any indiscretion on his part, he asked,
"Are you acquainted with any details of Miss de Maistre's life before her coming here?"