And when it is over, De Arthenay makes his stately
bow once more, and walks round the room, asking his question in low
tones of such as seem worthy of it; and then home, patient, undaunted,
to the quiet lodging where Vesta Dale is sitting up for him, weary
after her day's search in other quarters of the city, hoping little
from his coming, yet unwilling to lie down without a sight of his
face, always cheery when it meets hers, and the sound of his voice
saying,--
"Better luck to-morrow, Miss Vesta! better luck tomorrow! There's One
has her in charge, and He didn't need us to-day; that's all, my dear."
God help thee, De Arthenay! God speed and prosper thee, Rosin the
Beau!
But is not another name more fitting even than the fantastic one of
his adoption? Is not this Blondel, faithful, patient, undaunted,
wandering by tower and town, singing his song of love and hope and
undying loyalty under every window, till it shall one day fall like a
breath from heaven on the ear of the prisoner, sitting in darkness and
the shadow of death?
CHAPTER X.
DARKNESS.
"And how's our sweet little lady to-day? She's looking as pretty as a
picture, so it's a pleasure to look at her.
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