Alas! : a novel . peaker, aswell as the person addressed, came intosight; and in an instant out of Burgoyneseye has raced away the lack-lustre curiosity,and has given way to an expression ofsomething beyond surprise, of something 56 ALAS! more nearly verging on consternation ; andyet, after all, there is nothing very aston-ishing in the fact that it is Mrs. Le Mar-chant who is the woman in search of theVandyke. There is nothing more sur-prising in her being at Genoa than in hisbeing there himself. At that mart of nationsit can never be matter for wonder to meetanyone; but who is this to whom h
Alas! : a novel . peaker, aswell as the person addressed, came intosight; and in an instant out of Burgoyneseye has raced away the lack-lustre curiosity,and has given way to an expression ofsomething beyond surprise, of something 56 ALAS! more nearly verging on consternation ; andyet, after all, there is nothing very aston-ishing in the fact that it is Mrs. Le Mar-chant who is the woman in search of theVandyke. There is nothing more sur-prising in her being at Genoa than in hisbeing there himself. At that mart of nationsit can never be matter for wonder to meetanyone; but who is this to whom herobservation is addressed? It is not Marchant, it is not a man at all ; itis a slight woman— White as a lily, and small as a wand — like Lances sister, dressed with that neat,tight, gray - tinted simplicity, severe yetsmart, which marks the well-bred English-woman on her travels. Is it one of theyounger ones, who has grown up sostartlingly like her? Miriam? Rose? oris it, can it be, the dead Elizabeth ?. CHAPTER IV. In a ripe civilization such as ours thereare formulas provided to meet the require-ments of every exigency that may possiblyarise ; but amongst them there is not onewhich teaches us how to greet a personcome back from the dead, because it isheld impossible that such a contingencycan occur. Perhaps this is the reasonwhy Jim Burgoyne, usually a docile andobedient member of the society to whichhe belongs, now flies in the face of all theprecepts instilled into him by that societyscode. At the sight of Elizabeth LeMarchant entering the room, clad in avery neat tailor gown, instead of thewinding-sheet with which he had credited 58 ALAS I her, he at first stands transfixed, staringat her with a hardness of intensity whichis allowed to us in the case of Titians Bella, or Botticellis Spring, but hasnever been accounted permissible in thecase of a more living loveliness. Then,before he can control, or even questionthe impulse that drives him, it has carriedhim to
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