She was waiting for me, flitting like a ghost-moth about the dark old panels of the room from which she had dismissed me a little while ago. She put her finger to her lips, and hushed me in, and shut the door. She had dressed for dinner during the interval of my absence, and was a lovelier, more fairy-like apparition by twenty degrees. I felt like taking a dream into my arms--the sweet soft fragrance of her hair, and lifted face, and young white innocent bosom. A thread of diamonds dewed her neck--she melted to me like a very dew of girlhood, and loved and clung to me, and whispered impassioned that I was hers, she could not spare me to another, and I might claim her when I would and she would come to me. Her love, her rapture, her absorbing sympathy, were inexpressibly touching to me in my moody distress. Let all the world go by, so long as this dear flower of it sweetened on my heart. “Ira,” I whispered, fondling her in an ecstasy, “I believe I know where your aunt has gone.” “O, Richard!” she answered. “That is heavenly. Am I to know no more?” “Wait a little, you lovely thing. I may want you all before long. I am very much alone. Perhaps--Ira, will you meet me to-morrow, under the old hawthorn?” “Yes, Richard. Anywhere, and at any time you tell me.” “Say at three o’clock.” “Shall I make a note of it, Richard?” “I’ll do it for you--look, on the inside of your elbow. Now bend your arm, and keep it hidden from everybody.” CHAPTER XXIV. I ACCEPT THE BURDEN OF PROOF Henceforth the chase runs on, swift and relentless; and I give myself, with a fierce joy, to lead it over rocks and wounding briars, since it will drive me where by justice I should follow. Hounded and harassed of all the world, save in the instance of its two dear loyalest hearts, I turn at bay at length, and fight the bitter quarrel to an end. Then, though I lose, my persecutors shall bear for ever the marks of that affray, while I--while I am healing of my wounds in Avalon. When all is done, mine, I think, shall be the sweeter solace. All that morning following the interview, I waited, in a conflict of emotions, for the hour of my appointment with Lord Skene. I would not doubt its upshot--and yet I doubted. It seemed incredible that I could have come so far to win so little. Was he so obsessed, so infatuated a spouse, that all other interests were subordinated in his mind to the one passion of uxoriousness? I believe indeed that that was the case. So he only might recover his beautiful partner, all less importunate pleas for restitution were as the silence of the dead to him. He would subscribe to any conditions, would do, or leave undone, whatever appeared to speed him to that amorous conclusion.