He stood a moment silently observing her, and then he cautiously drew nearer, treading with great care, and shielding himself behind a large screen that stood at one side of the fire-place. In this way he was able to come very near without having his approach suspected. He meant to get very close and then to speak her name, and see if he could call up again the sweet, almost tender regard with which she had looked at him last night. Somehow, he felt sure that he should see that look again. He had half forgotten Charley Somers and Mrs. Vere. He kept his position in silence a moment. It was a joy just to feel himself near her, and to know that by just putting out his hand he might touch her. His eager gaze was fixed upon her fair, sweet profile, and sought the lovely eyes which were still gazing into the fire. He could see their musing, wistful look, and, as he began to wonder what it meant, those gentle eyes became suffused with tears. He saw them rise and fill and overflow the trembling lids, and fall upon a letter in her lap. At sight of that letter his heart contracted, and a sudden pallor over-spread his face. He had been so uncontrollably drawn to her that, in another moment, the burning words of love must have been spoken, and the eager arms outstretched to clasp her to his heart. But this letter was in a man’s handwriting, and his keen eyes detected the South American stamp on the envelope. His blood seemed to congeal within him, and his face grew hard and cold. He stepped backward, with an effort to escape, but his wits seemed to have deserted him; he stumbled against a chair, and, at the sound, Margaret looked up. Oh, _why_ were his eyes so blindly turned away from her? _Why_ did he not see that ardent, happy look with which she recognized him? Surely it was all and more than memory pictured it! Surely then he must have known, beyond a doubt, that her whole heart bade him welcome! But he would not look at her. He turned to make his way out, as he had come, pausing merely to ask, with resolutely averted eyes: “Excuse me, but can you tell me where Eugenia is?” “In her dressing-room, I think,” said Margaret, in a voice that, in spite of her, was husky. “I want to speak to her,” he said, and, without another word or look, he walked away. Poor Margaret! Her heart was sore and troubled at the sad words of Charley Somers’ note. In her own state of happiness and hope, they struck her as a thousand times more touching. She felt restless and uneasy, and she would have given much for some slight sign of protecting care and tenderness from Louis. She was ready to relinquish everything for him. She knew that he could make up to her for the loss of all else; but although he must have seen that she was troubled, he could bear to leave her with that air of cold composure! A dreadful doubt and uncertainty seized upon her, and she went to her room feeling lonely and dispirited.