“Yes; the doctor said she was dying—­that she couldn’t last much longer.”

“Well, I never had a sister, but I’m just as proud of Madge, and just as fond of her, as if she were my own flesh and blood.  She shall never lack what a brother can do for her while I live.”

“I’m glad you feel so,” said Mrs. Muir.  Then she sighed, and thought, “A plague upon him!  Why will he keep following up the other white-faced thing, when he might win Madge if he tried hard enough.  It’s plain that she don’t care for him now except as she used to.  And she does care for him just as she did before she went away, in spite of all her prudishness about the words brother and sister.  I’m not blind.  She has grown so pretty, however, that I suppose Graydon would wish to kiss her too often.  She is just as fond of him as he is of her, and in just the same way; but if I had his chance I’d soon have it a different way;” and the good lady was complacency itself over her penetration, as she bade Graydon good-night.  No one could see and report the surface of affairs more accurately than she.

As he descended to the hall, Arnault and Miss Wildmere entered.  The latter hastened forward and gave him her hand most cordially, saying, “Why, Mr. Muir, I’m ever so glad to see you; you have been away an age.”

“A day, Miss Wildmere.  Your appearance indicates that you have survived admirably.”

“The moon is so bright that we could drive fast, and I’m always happy when in rapid motion.”

“You have had the advantage of me then; yet I’ve been in rapid motion a good part of the day on express trains.”

“I feared you were not going to return to-day,” she said, as she strolled out with him on the piazza.

“Feared?”

“Yes, why not?”

“It strikes me that I might ask, Why?”

“Surely you would not have me lose such an evening as this, Mr. Muir?” she said, a little reproachfully.

“I would have you follow your own heart.”

“I shall follow it as soon as possible,” she replied, so earnestly that he was disarmed—­especially as the glance which accompanied the words was full of soft allurement and appeal.  Of her own accord she put her hand on his arm, and spoke in low, contented tones, as if she had at last found rest and refuge.  The moon poured around her a flood of radiance, which gave her an ethereal aspect.  Her white drapery enhanced and spiritualized her remarkable beauty, making her appear all that lover or poet could ask.  His own words grew kinder and gentler; his heart went out to her as never before; she seemed so fair, delicate, and pure in that witching light that he longed to rescue her at once from her surroundings.  Why should he not?  She had never manifested a more gentle and yielding mood.  He directed her steps from the piazza to a somewhat distant summer-house, and her reluctance was a shy half revolt, which only emphasized the natural meaning of her unspoken consent.