Under the dense foliage of the sleeping garden he pressed her hand to his lips, and she, tremulous, let him have his way.—­Bitter, bitter years lay behind her.  The physician had spoken only too truly.  The hardest blows of fate had brought her—­the proud daughter of a noble father—­to a course of cruel humiliations.  The life of a friendless though not penniless relation, taken into a wealthy house out of charity, had proved a thorny path to tread, but now-since the day before yesterday—­all was changed.  Orion had come.  His home and the city had held high festival on his return, as at some gift of Fortune, in which she too had a goodly share.  He had met her, not as the dependent relative, but as a beautiful and high-born woman.  There was sunshine in his presence which warmed her very heart, and made her raise her head once more like a flower that is brought out under the open sky after long privation of light and air.  His bright spirit and gladness of life refreshed her heart and brain; the respect he paid her revived her crushed self-confidence and filled her soul with fervent gratitude.  Ah! and how delightful it was to feel that she might be grateful, devotedly grateful.—­And then, then this evening had been hers, the sweetest, most blessed that she had known for years.  He had reminded her of what she had almost forgotten:  that she was still young, that she was still lovely, that she had a right to be happy, to enchant and be enchanted—­perhaps even to love and to be loved.

Her hand was still conscious of his burning kiss as she entered the cool room where the Lady Neforis sat awaiting the return of the party, turning her spinning-wheel by the couch of her invalid husband who always went to rest at late hours.  It was with an overflowing heart that Paula raised her uncle’s hand to her lips—­Orion’s father, might she not say her Orion’s?—­Then she kissed her aunt—­his mother, and it was long since she had done so—­as she and little Mary bid her good-night.  Neforis accepted the kiss coolly but with some surprise, and looked up enquiringly at the girl and at her son.  No doubt she thought many things, but deemed it prudent to give them no utterance for the present.  She allowed the girl to retire as though nothing unusual had occurred, superintended the servants who came to carry her husband into his bedroom, gave him the white globule which was to secure him sleep, and with indefatigable patience turned and moved his pillows till his couch was to his mind.  Not till then, nor till she was satisfied that a servant was keeping watch in the adjoining room, did she leave him; and then—­for there was danger in delay—­she went to seek her son.