He could gather from the manner of Ida nothing of what was passing in her mind during dinner. He observed, however, that she wore on this occasion a flower in her auburn hair, the first with which she had appeared since the time of her mourning--a simple white rose. He remembered that he had admired the simple decoration long ago, and that she had been wont to wear it to please him ere she had worn flowers to please another, so hope grew stronger in the heart of Vane. She chatted away with Desmond and joined in the general conversation with more gaiety than usual, but not without showing a little abstraction at times, as if her thoughts wandered. She accorded little more than an occasional glance to Vane, with a soft smile on her sweet face, though there was the old languor in all her actions and manner, while she gave a programme of the forthcoming Christmas festivities at Carnaby Court, to which he, and some of the others present, were invited. At last the ladies left the room, and the last glance, as she retired, rested on _him_. Jerry's heart beat like lightning. The hands of the clock above the mantel-piece were close upon the hour of eight when--after having to linger over a glass or two of wine--he quitted the table, and the house unperceived, and hastening through the garden, where the few flowers of autumn were lingering yet, he reached the appointed place, the long vista of which he could see in the twilight, bordered by gigantic rhododendron bushes, intermingled with lilac trees and Portugal laurels. She had not yet come, and with a heart in which much of joyous happiness was blended with hope and anxiety, Jerry walked slowly to and fro, as he knew not at which end of the alley she might appear. The sun had set more than an hour and a half; there was a deep crimson flush in the west, against which the great trees of the chase stood up still, motionless, and dark as bronze, for the night was calm, without a breath of wind, and the garden was so lonely and still, that Jerry thought he could actually hear the beating of his heart. Time stole on; the twilight passed away, and the shadows and shapes became lost and blended in darkness. The clock in the central gable of the court struck quarter after quarter, till Jerry, peevish with impatience now, and alone, too, found the hour of nine was nigh, and that Ida had not appeared. Could he have mistaken the place, or she the time? Had sudden illness come upon her, as her health was so uncertain now? Had she been interrupted by some of their numerous guests? To forget, or omit to come, were surely impossible! A distant step on the ground made his pulses quicken. 'At last, dearest, dearest Ida!' he muttered aloud.