England.  How far off we were from the green Devonshire coast, was one of her questions, suggestive of our old yacht-voyage lying among her dreams.  Excepting an extreme and terrorizing paleness, there was little to fever me with the thought that she suffered mortally.  Of reproach, not a word; nor of regret.  At the first touch of hands, when we stood together, alone, she said, ‘Would hearing of your recovery have given me peace?’ My privileges were the touch of hands, the touch of her fingers to my lips, a painless hearing and seeing, and passionate recollection.  She said, ‘Impatience is not for us, Harry’:  I was not to see her again before the evening.  These were the last words she said, and seemed the lightest until my hot brain made a harvest of them transcending thrice-told vows of love.  Did they not mean, ‘We two wait’:  therefore, ’The years are bondmen to our stedfastness.’  Could sweeter have been said?  They might mean nothing!

She was veiled when Janet drove her out; Janet sitting upright in her masterly way, smoothing her pet ponies with the curl of her whip, chatting and smiling; the princess slightly leaning back.  I strode up to the country roads, proud of our land’s beauty under a complacent sky.  By happy chance, which in a generous mood I ascribed to Janet’s good nature, I came across them at a seven miles’ distance.  They were talking spiritedly:  what was wonderful, they gave not much heed to me:  they seemed on edge for one another’s conversation:  each face was turned to the other’s, and after nodding an adieu, they resumed the animated discourse.  I had been rather in alarm lest Ottilia should think little of Janet.  They passed out of sight without recurring to a thought of me behind them.

In the evening I was one among a group of ladies.  I had the opportunity of hearing the running interchange between Ottilia and Janet, which appeared to be upon equal terms; indeed, Janet led.  The subjects were not very deep.  Plain wits, candour, and an unpretending tongue, it seemed, could make common subjects attractive, as fair weather does our English woods and fields.  The princess was attracted by something in Janet.  I myself felt the sway of something, while observing Ottilia’s rapt pleasure in her talk and her laughter, with those funny familiar frowns and current dimples twisting and melting away like a play of shadows on the eddies of the brook.

’I ‘m glad to be with her,’ Janet said of Ottilia.

It was just in that manner she spoke in Ottilia’s presence.  Why it should sound elsewhere unsatisfactorily blunt, and there possess a finished charm, I could not understand.

I mentioned to Janet that I feared my father would be returning.

She contained herself with a bridled ‘Oh!’

We were of one mind as to the necessity for keeping him absent, if possible.

‘Harry, you’ll pardon me; I can’t talk of him,’ said she.