She reflected that the old gipsy on the Moor had been wonderfully correct in her prophecy concerning Nick and Claire. The sun was “shin’ butivul” for them at last, just as she had assured them that it would. And, with the same, came a sudden little clutch of fear at Jean’s heart, like the touch of a strange hand. The gipsy had had other words for her--harsher, less sweet-sounding. “For there’s darkness comin’... black darkness.” She shivered a little. She felt as though a breath of cold air had passed over her, chilling the warm blood that ran so joyously in her veins. CHAPTER XXXI--AN UNWELCOME VISITOR BLAISE was seated at his study table, regarding somewhat dubiously a letter which lay open in front of him. It was written in a flowing, foreign hand and expressed with a quaintly stilted, un-English turn of phrase. The heading of the notepaper upon which it was inscribed was that of a hotel in Exeter. “Dear Mr. Tormarin,” it ran. “You will, without doubt, be surprised to receive a letter from me, since we have met only once. But I have something of the most great importance to confide in you, and I therefore beg that you will accord me an interview. When I add to this that the matter approaches very closely the future of your fiancée, Miss Peterson, I do not doubt to myself that you will appoint a time when I may call to see you.” The letter was signed _M. de Varigny_. Blaise had received this thought-provoking epistle two days previously, and had been impressed by an uncomfortable consciousness that it foreboded something unpleasant. He could not imagine in what manner the affairs of Madame de Varigny impinged upon his own, or rather, as she seemed to imply, upon those of his future wife, and this very uncertainty had impelled him to fix the interview the Countess had demanded at as early a moment as possible. Disagreeables were best met and faced without delay. So now he was momentarily awaiting her arrival, still unable to rid himself of the impression that something of an unpleasant nature impended. He glanced through the open window, facing him. Afterwards, he was always able to recall every little detail of the picture upon which his eyes rested; it was etched upon his mind as ineffaceably as though cut upon steel with a graver’s tool. Although the mellow sunlight of September flooded the lawns and terraces, that indescribable change which heralds autumn had already begun to manifest itself. Not that any hint of chill as yet edged the balmy atmosphere or tint of russet reddened the gently waving foliage of the trees. It was something less definite--a suggestion of maturity, of completed ripening, conveyed by the deep, rich green of the grass, the strong, woody growth of the trees, the full-blown glory of the roses nodding on their stems.