“Can it be you don’t intend to see her after going this far?” He spoke with neither passion nor hurry, neither contempt, only wonder perfectly feigned--and his eyes turned slowly to the fireplace, his hand shading his face. Alphonso sat still looking at him, wishing weakly the eyes would turn again back towards him. But, as if reading his thoughts, St Armand continued: “She has very pretty eyes, and she is fond of you. I think, child-like, she would never tire of looking at you, and you would learn from the changing light in her eyes all that a man has ever need to know. I am old, my eyes are growing dim and duller; but she is young--what she has not learnt you can teach her it, and grow young again listening to the light chattering of youth.” The other moved restlessly in his chair. “I can never see her, St Armand. I am bound in by priests and servants and machine-like routine.” “I think I will be your servant. As your friend I will walk out with you. For a week or two you shall take the light holiday that your state of health requires. Give Eaglestone a rest; I will become Vice-Chaplain,” and he laughed a light, pleasant laugh suggestive of good-nature and light-heartedness. “What do you mean?” “I mean that in the morning you and I shall take a stroll through the Temple Close. I am engaged upon a few poor sketches to fill my leisure hours. We shall neither of us find the time dull, I promise you.” Just then some guests of the evening were announced--high dignitaries in that golden church; and all were stiff and formal like their master. But before his eyes all evening danced a vision--a pretty face, a sylph-like figure, fairy fingers, and a voice ridiculously sweet and child-like too, and above all, the blazing coal-black eyes, blinding his vision, yet compelling him to feel as they dictated--to _feel_, the first time for over twenty years. CHAPTER XIII