He signalled again and again, showing his impatience by the growing rapidity of his gestures and the impassioned movement of his mute lips. He heard her sigh, and then she nodded resignedly and retreated into the room. Her light went out. She was coming; he knew she would join him if her mother was asleep. And yet that sigh! What could it mean from her who had always come so joyfully, so full of love and faith? Ah, he had it! The gentle girl, not having seen him for several weeks, was genuinely jealous of the weighty affairs which had recently absorbed so much of his attention. All the uproar over his prospective success in the papers, the graphic accounts of his high position, had made her fancy, in her artistic sensitiveness, that circumstances were separating them. Ah, yes, that was it! But he would set her right on that score, as he always had done. He would convince her that their sweet secret was their own, and assure her that it need not be long now before they could announce their love to the world. Where could he look for a better or a truer mate? The secret of their present, and perhaps imprudent, intimacy would never be known. But for the time being, of course, he could not think of marrying _any one_. Much depended, right now, on his remaining exactly as he was--the suave bachelor whom certain prim and accurate maiden ladies had intrusted with the management of their finances, and reserved a right to decide, as members of some churches do in the cases of their unmarried pastors, what manner of woman their paragon was to choose, if any, as his partner in life. They would be unanimous in their verdict against the artist's beautiful daughter, not being able to see her worth and charm as he could see them. And to announce at the present crisis that he had chosen such a wife would certainly be inadvisable. He had become their idol, and his judgment told him he must retain their good-will in all things--at least, till he was independent of their support. There was a low, creaking sound from the rusty hinges of the rear door of the cottage, followed by profound stillness, and he knew she had paused on the steps to see if her mother would wake. Then he breathed in vast relief, for he saw her coming. She had thrown a light shawl over her head, and as she passed from under the intervening arbor of grape-vines and the moonlight fell upon her partly exposed face, he was struck by its pallor, and by the desperate gleam in the eyes so steadily fixed on him. “Thank God, I see you at last, darling!” he exclaimed, passionately, as he held out his arms. But to his amazement she drew back, warding off his embrace with a hand that was firm, strong, and cold as ice. “You must go--you must never come again!” she said, in a voice filled with suffering. The little wood-house was between them and the cottage, and some tall trees bordering the little street threw a shadow over them.