He was thinking of a reluctant withdrawal, when the door opened.

He heard a soft rustle, turned his head, and rose.
It was Irene! Irene in all the grace of her earlier day, and with maturer beauty; Irene with her light step, her bravely balanced head, her smile of admirable courtesy, her golden voice.

Otway knew not what she said to him; something frank, cordial, welcoming.

For an instant he had held her hand, and felt its coolness thrill him to his heart of hearts; he had bent before her, mutely worshipping.

His brain was on fire with the old passion newly kindled.