two evenings later noel called again, finding mrs. murray recovered and able to join the group around the table as usual. there was no consciousness expressed in the eyes of either christine or himself as they met. at first she was very grave and silent, but under the influence of his easy talk her manner became perfectly natural, and at the close of the evening she found herself wondering if the exciting occurrences of their last meeting could be reality. noel read aloud most of the evening an agreeable, unexciting book, and christine thanked him from her heart that he did not ask, as usual, for music.

as for mrs. murray, as the days went on she found herself continually wondering that such a state of things could last. she was perfectly sure of noel’s feeling, and she thought its continued entire suppression very strange. she was often tempted to make some excuse to leave them alone, but a fear of the consequences held her back, for she was absolutely unable to calculate upon christine. she had not the courage to lift a finger in the matter.

almost imperceptibly a change was coming over christine, and by degrees mrs. murray became aware of it. she grew more silent and fond of being alone. she even went out now and took long, companionless walks, coming home exhausted and preoccupied. “poor girl!” thought her kind, old friend. “she is very unhappy, and for a little while, in her deliverance from a worse unhappiness, she had managed to forget it partly.”

on one occasion noel rather urgently pressed the matter of being allowed to bring his mother and sisters to call. he did so in the hope that time might have somewhat modified christine’s feeling in the matter, but he found it absolutely unchanged and was obliged to withdraw his request.

as the days and weeks went by noel became every day more restless and gloomy. he was unhappy if he stayed away from christine, and yet to be in her presence merely as a friendly visitor was often galling and depressing to an almost intolerable degree. he scarcely ever saw her alone for a moment, and he had a certain conviction that while mrs. murray did some gentle plotting to leave them tête-à-tête christine managed ingeniously to thwart her plans.

about this time he was compelled to go away for a week on a business expedition, and so, for more than that space of time, he had not called at mrs. murray’s. when he rang the door-bell on the evening of his return harriet, who answered it, left him to find his way alone to the pretty sitting-room, warm and lighted and empty, as he thought. the next instant, however, his heart gave a bound, as he saw at its opposite end christine, tall and slight and young and beautiful, standing, with her back turned, before a table against the wall, on which a large engraving rested.

it was heavily framed and he knew he had never seen it there before. the fact was mrs. murray, who had a very romantic heart, had seen it in a shop-window and impulsively bought it, and it had just been sent home.

noel, stepping with the utmost caution over the thick carpet, came near enough to look at the picture over christine’s shoulder. he knew it well. it was frederick leighton’s “wedded.”

as the man and woman stood before it each was under the spell of that beautiful representation of abandonment to love—the deep and holy wedded love which is the god-given right of every man and woman who lives and feels.

christine was utterly unconscious of his nearness as she bent toward it eagerly. he could see by the movement of her throat and shoulders that her breaths were coming thick and fast and her heart was beating hard. as for him the fact that he was near to her was the supreme consciousness of that moment to him, and all the meaning of this consciousness was in his voice, as he whispered her name:

“christine!”

she started and turned. his eyes caught hers and held them. for a moment she found it impossible to release them from his compelling gaze. she was under the spell of the picture still. it had broken down the habitual barriers of restraint and self-control, and sent an exultant gleam into her heart, which her face reflected.

“christine!” he said again in that thrilling whisper.

the sound of his voice recalled her. that strange, exalted look gave place to another, which was as if a withering blight had crossed her face, and she turned and looked at noel. he met that look of desolation and anguish with firm, unflinching eyes.

“i love you,” he whispered low, but clear.

“then spare me,” she whispered back.

“once more, christine,” he said. they kept their places, a few feet apart, and neither moved a muscle except for the slight motion of their lips, from which the faint sounds came forth like ghostly whispers. “once more, christine—answer me this. do you love me?”

and again she answered:

“no.”

the tone in which she said it was strong and steady in spite of its lowness, and the eyes confirmed it.

the suspense was over. with that strange recollectedness which human beings often have in the sharpest crises of their lives noel suppressed the great sigh that had risen from his heart, and let the breath of it go forth from his parted lips, with careful pains to make no sound.

it was a relief to both that at this moment mrs. murray came into the room. they turned abruptly from the picture, and in the cordial greeting which the hostess bestowed upon her guest the moment’s ordeal was successfully passed. not, however, without the watchful eyes of mrs. murray having seen much, and conjectured far more. whether her impulse in buying the picture had done good or harm she was puzzled to determine.