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CHAPTER XI.
"Even beauty's shadow lies
Like darkness on the earth."
J. K. Hervey.
For weeks it seemed as if the fearful tragedy acted at their very threshold had left a gloom not to be dispelled on the whole party. Night and day the appalling death-note of the carbine rang in their ears; and one event, and one individual, was the sole topic of discourse. Still Francesca could feel horror only, not grief; and there were now hope and happiness at her heart, long strangers to its haunted circle. She had indeed been true to herself, and to her first and only love; the image of Robert Evelyn might again be the one cherished thought, the one perpetual dream of her solitude. It was like returning to her native country—returning to that dear and early vision. Again life wore the beauty of promise—the deep and sweet well of sympathy, so long dried up, flowed again. The first time that
