But they saw some one
approaching, and before they arose, while they were still silent, and
Hope's heart was like the dawning summer heaven, she suddenly heard Abel
Newt's words, and watched him, speechlessly, as he and his companion
glided by her into the darkness. It was the vision of a moment; but in
the attitude, the tone, the whole impression, Hope Wayne instinctively
felt treachery.
"Yes, let us go in!" she said to Lawrence Newt, as she rose calmly.
Abel had passed. He could no more have stopped and shaken hands with Hope
Wayne than he could have sung like a nightingale. He could not even raise
his head erect as he went by--something very stern and very strong seemed
to hold it down.
Miss Plumer's head was also bent; she was waiting to hear the end of that
sentence. She thought society opened beautifully. Such a handsome fellow
in such a romantic spot, beginning his compliments in such a low, rich
voice, with his hair almost brushing hers. But he did not finish. Abel
Newt was perfectly silent. He glided away with Grace Plumer into grateful
gloom, and her ears, exquisitely apprehensive, caught from his lips not a
word further.
Lawrence Newt rose as Hope requested, and they moved away. She found her
aunt, and stood by her side. The young men were brought up and presented,
and submitted their observations upon the weather, asked her how she
liked New York--were delighted to hear that she would pass the next
winter in the city--would show her then that New York had some claim to
attention even from a Bostonian--were charmed, really, with Mr.
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