A fearful foreboding possessed me; what could it mean?  Somebody was riding away; who was it?  Through the gate and down the avenue I heard the galloping steed.

I dragged my nerveless limbs to the window and peered forth.  Clear against the horizon, now streaked with pale crimson rays of dawn, rising in bold relief I beheld the receding figure of Richard Bristed.

He was leaving me without word or sign.  My head reeled; I grasped the window casement to steady myself, and sank insensible upon the floor.

CHAPTER VI.

I must have remained in this condition some hours, for the sun was high in the heavens when I opened my eyes and became conscious.  Where was I?  Not in my own room, surely; the fragrance of exotics did not penetrate my lattice; the simple honeysuckle that twined around my window breathed forth a different perfume from this.  My heart gave one glad leap.  Oh, it is all a dream!  I thought; Richard’s galloping down the road, and all the past night’s misery is a dream!  With this reflection a happy tranquillity was stealing over me, when I heard a well-known voice exclaim: 

“Look, Mary, attend her; she has opened her eyes, thank God.”

It was Mr. Bristed’s voice, and as he spoke Mary approached me, and bending over, bathed my head with scented water.  “Hope you feel better, Miss,” said she.

“Have I been ill, Mary?  Where am I?”

“In master’s library.”

Surely it was so.  I was lying upon a divan near the conservatory.  Alas, I was not dreaming!  I sat up and looked drearily around, and as I did so Mr. Bristed drew near with a beautiful lily in his hand, which he offered to me.  He inquired kindly after my health and looked pleased when I told him I felt quite strong.  Indeed I did feel strong for the moment, and arose determined to leave the room.

“Sit still—­where are you going?” he asked anxiously.

“Going to the school-room—­going to see Herbert,” I replied.

“Herbert,” said he, and his countenance darkened; “you cannot see Herbert, he is ill.”

Not see Herbert, and he ill?  What could be the matter?  He was well but yesterday.

Mr. Bristed’s strange manner, coupled with Richard’s absence and the fearful events of the night, seemed likely to turn my brain.

He saw my startled look of inquiry, and said, “Be quiet awhile; I have something of importance which I will communicate to you by-and-by, when you are composed.”

“Mary,” he ordered, “ring the bell for breakfast to be sent hither; meanwhile, Miss Reef, while awaiting our coffee, if you will walk with me in the conservatory I will take pleasure in showing you my tropical curiosities.”

I followed him languidly with wandering thoughts.  Gradually, however, I grew interested and listened with increased attention to his animated description of the homes and haunts of the wonders by which he was surrounded.  He had visited many climes, and gathered each strange flower and plant he had seen in its native clime.  He became eloquent and genial as he described the strange habits and peculiarities of his floral companions, which he seemed to regard as a species of humanity; to him they were not inanimate existences—­creations—­but objects endowed with soul and sensation.