christine was ill for many weeks, with dr. belford in daily attendance, and her faithful old eliza to help mrs. murray with the nursing. all during the long fever, the gentle, little old lady, to whom noel had confided her, watched and tended her with a mother’s devotion and love. the patient was far too ill to protest, and very soon she learned to lean upon and love mrs. murray as though she had indeed been her mother. again poor noel felt himself banished, ignored and excluded, as he alone was kept away from her, but his care for her was so supremely above his care for himself that he never made a complaint.

he had learned from eliza—whose mouth was shut so tight to the other servants that she went among them almost like a dumb woman—that on the day of his making the announcement concerning her husband to christine, a messenger had brought dallas a note, after reading which he had hurriedly put a few things into a valise and left the house. since then he had not been heard from. evidently christine had warned him in her note and he had run away to escape the suit for bigamy. noel had not suspected the poor girl’s motive in writing, but, on the whole, he was glad. it was the simplest and surest way of getting rid of him.

at last dr. belford had pronounced the patient convalescent, and she was sitting up and even moving about the up-stairs rooms.

one afternoon noel came to the house, as usual, to make inquiries. as he mounted the steps he saw that by some accident the door had been left ajar. he bethought him to go in softly, in the hope of finding mrs. murray in one of the lower rooms and taking her by surprise. he had bought a big bunch of crimson roses on the way. he crossed the hall softly and made his way to the cozy little sitting-room, attracted by the flickering light of a wood fire, which looked cheery and comfortable on a day like this. it was burning rather low, but the room was still partly lighted from without, and as he was about to cross the threshold he saw a picture which made him pause.

on a deep lounge half turned toward the fire a girl in white was lying fast asleep. it was christine. her dark hair was all gathered loosely back and coiled in a large knot low down against her fair throat, from which the white lace of her gown fell backward, leaving its beautiful pureness bare. there was a charming air of foreign taste and fashioning about the whole costume. poor christine! she had put it on obediently when mrs. murray had brought it to her, selecting it from among the contents of her trunk as the most comfortable and suitable thing for the convalescent to wear. it had been long since she had worn or even looked at it, and it had brought back sad memories of her pretty wedding outfit, but all her clothes had sad associations for her, and the ones she had worn more recently would have been worse than this. so she put it on unquestioningly, too listless to care much what she wore, a fact which did not prevent its being exquisitely suitable to her.

she was very white, and the long black lashes that lay against her cheek made a dark shadow under her eyes that made her look the more fragile. her face was infinitely sad; the corners of the mouth drooped piteously, and a look of trouble now and then slightly contracted the brows.

noel, who had cautiously drawn near, was seated in a low chair near her feet, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of waking her, and breaking the spell which seemed to hold him, also, in a sleep of enchantment. he made up his mind deliberately that he would remain and be near her when she waked. he had kept himself away from her long enough. now he must see and talk with her. he sat so for some time, the red roses in his hands, and his steady, grave, intense dark eyes fastened upon her face. presently a long, deep sigh escaped her, and the fair figure on the lounge moved slightly, and then settled into more profound repose. it was evident that she was sleeping soundly. a thought occurred to noel, and moving with infinite cautiousness and slowness he took the roses one by one and laid them over her white dress. one of her arms was raised above her head, so that her cheek rested against it, and the other lay along her side, the hand relaxed and empty.

as he was putting the last rose in its place, he observed this little, fragile left hand particularly and saw a thing that made his heart throb: the wedding-ring was gone from it. christine was free indeed! here was the sign and token before his very eyes. being free he might win her for his own. the force of his love in this minute seemed strong enough for any task. oh, if he could only be patient! he felt it very hard—the hardest task that could beset him, but he gathered all the strength that was in him for a great resolve of patience. the sacredness of it rendered it a prayer.

and christine slept on profoundly. he had known each moment that she might wake and discover him, but he felt himself prepared for that. he looked at her and realized that she was well, for in spite of her pallor, she had the look of youthful health and strength, and he said to himself that his banishment was over and the time to set himself to the task before him was come.

as he kept his eyes upon her lovely face a sudden little smile lifted, ever so slightly, the corners of her mouth, as if there were pleasure in her dream. the man’s heart thrilled to see it. if a dream could make her smile—if the power to smile remained to her—reality should do it, too. if he could just be patient! if he could keep down the longing in his heart that clamored for relief in uttered words!

a piece of wood upon the fire fell apart, sending up a bright little blaze. the sound of it wakened christine. still with the memory of that dream upon her she opened her eyes, and met noel’s gaze fixed on her in sweet friendliness and gladness. for an instant neither spoke. christine’s large eyes, clear as jewels in the firelight, gazed at him across the bank of crimson roses that seemed to send a red flush to her face.

noel spoke first.

“all right again, at last!” he said, with a cheering smile. “have you had a pleasant nap?”

and he leaned forward and held out his hand.

a rush of sad remembrance came over christine’s face. the lines of her mouth trembled a little and she dropped her eyes as she took his hand in both her own and pressed it silently. noel knew the touch meant only gratitude, and it left him miserably unsatisfied, but he felt himself strong to wait. she dropped his hand, and for a moment covered her face with her own, as if to collect herself thoroughly. then she sat upright in her seat, scattering the roses to the floor. noel knelt to gather them up [pg 163]for her, and when he had collected the great mass into a gorgeous bunch he knelt still as he held them out to her.

she took them, hiding her face in their glowing sweetness, and noel, rising, walked a few steps away, feeling it impossible to speak, unless he allowed himself the words he had forsworn.

at this instant a cheery voice was heard in the hall.

“who in the world left the front door open?” it said, in energetic, matter-of-fact tones, at the sound of which noel felt suddenly fortified.

mrs. murray had entered just in time, for the sight of christine here alone had been almost too much for the resolutions of reserve in which he had flattered himself he was so strong.