The supper bell rang, and Sophie, with a hasty charge to Hagar to make her toilet quickly, arose and left the room. And Hagar sprang to her feet with a determination to look very regal, happy, and defiant. She bathed her burning eyes and brow, but without cooling their fever. She smoothed her long glittering ringlets, and collected them under a jewelled comb. She changed her black riding-dress for a crimson satin, with full and falling sleeves, fastened a ruby bracelet on her slender but rounded arm, and descended the stairs, trying to draw her heart up blithe and high; she entered the drawing-room with head erect, expanded brow, and elastic step, and was passing on proudly alone, behind the company, who were going to the supper room, when quickly and softly at her side was Raymond, his graceful head, with its wavy golden hair, bending forward, smiling up into her face; his soft eyes radiant under their golden lashes, and his delicate hand seeking hers, to draw it through his arm, just as if nothing had happened. Her own Raymond!—her pride was disarmed in a moment. Sunbright was the smile of surprise, joy, love, and gratitude she flashed up in his gentle face, and suddenly it softened into tenderness; how could she have defied a gentle soul like his?—in truth, she would have given everything she possessed on earth, except Remus, Romulus, and Starlight, to have blotted out for ever the offence of the day. She had not expected this; she had prepared herself to defy the storm, not the sunshine, and her defences were all melted off. She was subdued, and quietly and generously resolved in her own mind not to shock and wound his fastidious delicacy again, and so they sat down to supper. The neighborhood gossip of a tea-table occupied the company. But Hagar continued to watch Raymond with a new feeling, new interest; it seemed his character was now constantly unfolding itself to her; new leaf after leaf was turned; she watched him covertly but closely. His manner was just precisely as usual; and, though she often caught his full eyes, not the slightest consciousness of remembering that anything unpleasant had occurred was to be detected in their glance. His countenance and manner wore their usual air of graceful self-possession and elegant repose, and she would have thought that, indeed, the occurrence of the day had dropped from his memory, but that once, quickly, under his breath, he had said, “Your restlessness of manner, your anxiety of expression, will draw attention—be at ease.”