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- Мари Корелли
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He
was
silent
--
and
finishing
his
cigar
,
threw
the
end
away
in
the
grass
where
it
burned
like
a
dull
red
coal
.
"
I
must
turn
in
,
"
he
then
observed
--
"
I
have
a
few
more
directions
to
give
to
the
servants
for
to-morrow
.
I
shall
go
to
my
room
as
soon
as
I
have
done
--
so
I
'll
say
good-night
.
"
"
But
surely
you
are
taking
too
much
personal
trouble
,
"
--
I
said
--
"
Ca
n't
I
help
in
any
way
?
"
"
No
,
you
ca
n't
,
"
--
he
answered
smiling
.
"
When
I
undertake
to
do
anything
I
like
to
do
it
in
my
own
fashion
,
or
not
at
all
.
Sleep
well
,
and
rise
early
.
"
He
nodded
,
and
sauntered
slowly
away
over
the
dewy
grass
.
I
watched
his
dark
tall
figure
receding
till
he
had
entered
the
house
;
then
,
lighting
a
fresh
cigar
,
I
wandered
on
alone
through
the
grounds
,
noting
here
and
there
flowery
arbours
and
dainty
silk
pavilions
erected
in
picturesque
nooks
and
corners
for
the
morrow
.
I
looked
up
at
the
sky
;
it
was
clear
and
bright
--
there
would
be
no
rain
.
Presently
I
opened
the
wicket-gate
that
led
into
the
outer
by-road
,
and
walking
on
slowly
,
almost
unconsciously
,
I
found
myself
in
a
few
minutes
opposite
'
Lily
Cottage
.
'
Approaching
the
gate
I
looked
in
--
the
pretty
old
house
was
dark
,
silent
and
deserted
.
I
knew
Mavis
Clare
was
away
--
and
it
was
not
strange
that
the
aspect
of
her
home-nest
emphasized
the
fact
of
her
absence
.
A
cluster
of
climbing
roses
hanging
from
the
wall
,
looked
as
if
they
were
listening
for
the
first
sound
of
her
returning
footsteps
;
across
the
green
breadth
of
the
lawn
where
I
had
seen
her
playing
with
her
dogs
,
a
tall
sheaf
of
St
John
's
lilies
stood
up
white
against
the
sky
,
their
pure
hearts
opened
to
the
star-light
and
the
breeze
.
The
scent
of
honey-suckle
and
sweet-briar
filled
the
air
with
delicate
suggestions
--
and
as
I
leaned
over
the
low
fence
,
gazing
vaguely
at
the
long
shadows
of
the
trees
on
the
grass
,
a
nightingale
began
to
sing
.
The
sweet
yet
dolorous
warble
of
the
'
little
brown
lover
of
the
moon
,
'
palpitated
on
the
silence
in
silver-toned
drops
of
melody
;
and
I
listened
,
till
my
eyes
smarted
with
a
sudden
moisture
as
of
tears
.
Strangely
enough
,
I
never
thought
of
my
betrothed
bride
Sibyl
then
,
as
surely
,
by
all
the
precedents
of
passion
,
I
should
have
done
at
such
a
moment
of
dreamful
ecstasy
.
It
was
another
woman
's
face
that
floated
before
my
memory
;
--
a
face
not
beautiful
--
but
merely
sweet
--
and
made
radiant
by
the
light
of
two
tender
,
wistful
,
wonderfully
innocent
eyes
--
a
face
like
that
of
some
new
Daphne
with
the
mystic
laurel
springing
from
her
brows
.
The
nightingale
sang
on
and
on
--
the
tall
lilies
swayed
in
the
faint
wind
as
though
nodding
wise
approval
of
the
bird
's
wild
music
--
and
,
gathering
one
briar-rose
from
the
hedge
,
I
turned
away
with
a
curious
heaviness
at
my
heart
--
a
trouble
I
could
not
analyse
or
account
for
.
I
explained
my
feeling
partly
to
myself
as
one
of
regret
that
I
had
ever
taken
up
my
pen
to
assault
,
with
sneer
and
flippant
jest
,
the
gentle
and
brilliantly
endowed
owner
of
this
little
home
where
peace
and
pure
content
dwelt
happily
in
student-like
seclusion
;
--
but
this
was
not
all
.
There
was
something
else
in
my
mind
--
something
inexplicable
and
sad
--
which
then
I
had
no
skill
to
define
.
I
know
now
what
it
was
--
but
the
knowledge
comes
too
late
!
Returning
to
my
own
domains
,
I
saw
through
the
trees
a
vivid
red
light
in
one
of
the
upper
windows
of
Willowsmere
.
It
twinkled
like
a
lurid
star
,
and
I
guided
my
steps
by
its
brilliancy
as
I
made
my
way
across
the
winding
garden-paths
and
terraces
back
to
the
house
.
Entering
the
hall
,
the
page
in
scarlet
and
gold
met
me
,
and
with
a
respectful
obeisance
,
escorted
me
to
my
room
where
Amiel
was
in
waiting
.
"
Has
the
prince
retired
?
"
I
asked
him
.
"
Yes
,
sir
.
"
