It was still early in the afternoon when Thea laid out upon the bed all her pretty things to be ready for dressing early that evening. She lingered some time over the airy white robe, the snowy, embroidered hose and slippers, admiring the silken lilies of the valley that were to match the garniture of the dress. She practiced airily before the mirror some moments with the exquisite white fan, then it occurred to her that perhaps there was something she could do for Mrs. de Vere, her heart bubbling over with gratitude to the woman who was so generous and kind. “No, there is nothing you can do,” said the good lady. “I advise you, though, my dear, to take your hat and go out for a stroll through the grounds that you may get up a perfect complexion for to-night.” Thea laughed and obeyed, and Mrs. de Vere, looking after her, sighed. “I wonder if she is going to be my daughter or not? I suppose Norman can not be so anxious over it as he pretended to me, or he would have spoken to her before now.” CHAPTER XLIV. Thea caught up a big black sun-hat trimmed with a long wreath of trailing grasses, and took her way to her favorite resort--the river that flowed through the grounds at Verelands. It was an ideal day, she thought, as she skipped gayly along. The air was sweet and warm, the sun shone brightly on the flowers that seemed to nod a fragrant greeting to the lovely girl as she passed. Something of the sunshine and warmth of the day seemed to shine into her heart and dispel the hovering shadows of unrest and hopeless love. “Oh, why should I be sad?” she cried. “One can not have everything one wants, and this beautiful old world is bright enough of itself to fill one’s heart with gladness!” Then she started back in bashful surprise, for just before her she saw her tall, handsome guardian. He was standing on the bank of the river, where some cypress-trees grew thickly, forming a deep shade. His hat lay on the ground, and his well-shaped head, with its cluster of wavy black hair, leaned back against a tree-trunk, his downcast eyes, infinitely grave and sad, fixed upon the now shallow river that went whispering and sighing along. Some bitter retrospection had driven him forth to the fatal spot where so many years ago his love and faith in his beautiful wife had died so ghastly a death. Only a moment ago it had seemed to him he could see her there at his feet groveling, seeking for the fatal red roses, the witnesses of her terrible crime. He had turned sick and faint again with the hideous memory; he had leaned his head back against the tree and half shut his eyes, and then he had heard a girl’s soft voice murmuring some indistinct words to herself. He turned his head and saw Thea close to him, and it rushed over him as a happy augury that she should come to him here, bringing the sunlight of her presence into the gloom that hung forever over this fatal spot. “Oh!” she cried, starting back as their eyes met.