I remember, too, that she had great sprays of heliotrope in the bodice of her dress and in her hair.  She looked more lovely, more seductive, than any words of mine could describe, if I wrote for six months.

On the table by her side was a tray set with delicate china and silver, over which the firelight played cheerily.  It was a picture of luxurious home comfort.  She looked up as I entered with a grave, sweet smile.

“Your coffee is ready, Sir Edgar.”

There was my favorite chair drawn up to the table.  As I sat down I said aloud: 

“This is comfortable.”

Her smile brightened and deepened.

“You are like Miles, Sir Edgar.  No matter where he went, he always said coming home was the most pleasant part of the day.”

Then, with her white, jeweled hand, she poured out my coffee, and certainly the aromatic fragrance was very pleasant.

“You must be like Miles in something else,” she said.  “He always declared that I made better coffee than anyone else—­better than he tasted in all his travels.  Do you not think the same?” And she looked at me as anxiously as though the making of coffee to please me were the chief aim of life.

“Was Sir John at home?” she asked, after a few minutes.

Then I had to describe my day, to give her a history of the coming fair, in which she affected great interest.

“I should like to go very much,” she said.  “I have read in fashionable novels of fancy fairs, but I have never seen one.  Are you going, Sir Edgar?”

“Lady Thesiger has asked my assistance, and I have promised it.  We shall make up a party.  If you wish to go, Coralie, you shall.”

She thanked me, and when I had finished my coffee, rang the bell and ordered it to be cleared away.

“I am going to sing to you,” she said.  “I know you are tired.  Throw your head back, shut your eyes and listen.  Do not speak, because I am going to weave a charm for you.”

I declare before Heaven that when I remember the magic of that charm my heart beats even now with fear!

Are you keenly sensitive to music, reader?  If so, you will understand.  I could neither sing nor play, but I loved music with a perfect passion.  There was not a nerve or pulse in my body, not a thrill in my heart, that did not answer it.  Listening to beautiful music, sweet, soothing and sad, this world fell from me.  I was in an ideal life, with vague, glorious fancies floating round me, beautiful, lofty dreams filling my whole soul.

In this higher world Coralie’s music wrapped me; then I came to myself with a sudden start, for there was Coralie half kneeling by my side, covering my hand with kisses and tears.

CHAPTER X.

“Coralie!” I cried, in surprise.  “What is the matter?  What are you doing?”

She looked up at me, the fire of her eyes flashing through the mist of tears.