Leaning here—­almost hanging to the monument—­was Edward Springrove, or his spirit.

The weak daylight would never have revealed him, shaded as he was by the screen; but the unexpected rays of candle-light in the front showed him forth in startling relief to any and all of those whose eyes wandered in that direction.  The sight was a sad one—­sad beyond all description.  His eyes were wild, their orbits leaden.  His face was of a sickly paleness, his hair dry and disordered, his lips parted as if he could get no breath.  His figure was spectre-thin.  His actions seemed beyond his own control.

Manston did not see him; Cytherea did.  The healing effect upon her heart of a year’s silence—­a year and a half’s separation—­was undone in an instant.  One of those strange revivals of passion by mere sight—­commoner in women than in men, and in oppressed women commonest of all—­had taken place in her—­so transcendently, that even to herself it seemed more like a new creation than a revival.

Marrying for a home—­what a mockery it was!

It may be said that the means most potent for rekindling old love in a maiden’s heart are, to see her lover in laughter and good spirits in her despite when the breach has been owing to a slight from herself; when owing to a slight from him, to see him suffering for his own fault.  If he is happy in a clear conscience, she blames him; if he is miserable because deeply to blame, she blames herself.  The latter was Cytherea’s case now.

First, an agony of face told of the suppressed misery within her, which presently could be suppressed no longer.  When they were coming out of the porch, there broke from her in a low plaintive scream the words, ‘He’s dying—­dying!  O God, save us!’ She began to sink down, and would have fallen had not Manston caught her.  The chief bridesmaid applied her vinaigrette.

‘What did she say?’ inquired Manston.

Owen was the only one to whom the words were intelligible, and he was far too deeply impressed, or rather alarmed, to reply.  She did not faint, and soon began to recover her self-command.  Owen took advantage of the hindrance to step back to where the apparition had been seen.  He was enraged with Springrove for what he considered an unwarrantable intrusion.

But Edward was not in the chantry.  As he had come, so he had gone, nobody could tell how or whither.

4.  AFTERNOON

It might almost have been believed that a transmutation had taken place in Cytherea’s idiosyncrasy, that her moral nature had fled.

The wedding-party returned to the house.  As soon as he could find an opportunity, Owen took his sister aside to speak privately with her on what had happened.  The expression of her face was hard, wild, and unreal—­an expression he had never seen there before, and it disturbed him.  He spoke to her severely and sadly.

‘Cytherea,’ he said, ’I know the cause of this emotion of yours.  But remember this, there was no excuse for it.  You should have been woman enough to control yourself.  Remember whose wife you are, and don’t think anything more of a mean-spirited fellow like Springrove; he had no business to come there as he did.  You are altogether wrong, Cytherea, and I am vexed with you more than I can say—­very vexed.’