He did not know that he had spoken. The name upon his tongue, a name he had said low to himself often to-day and yesterday, was born of the throe which made fire-currents of his veins, the passion which at the instant seized imperiously upon his being. She could not see his face, and hers to him was a half-veiled glory, yet each knew the wild gaze, the all but terror, in the other's eyes, that anguish which indicates a supreme moment in life, a turning-point of fate. She had no voice. Wilfrid's words at length made way impetuously. 'I thought I could wait longer, and try in the meanwhile to win your kind thoughts for me; but I dare not part from you for so long, leaving it a mere chance that you will come back. I must say to you what it means, the hope of seeing you again. All the other desires of my life are lost in that. You are my true self, for which I shall seek in vain whilst I am away from you. Can you give me anything--a promise of kind thought--a hope--to live upon till I see you?' 'I cannot come back.' But for the intense stillness he could not have caught the words; they were sighed rather than spoken. 'Because I have said this?--Emily!' He saw the white shape of her hand resting upon the table, and held it in his own, that exquisite hand which he had so often longed to touch; how cold it was! yet how soft, living! She made no effort to draw it away. 'I cannot say now what I wish to,' he spoke hurriedly. 'I must see you to-morrow--you will not refuse? I _must_ see you! You are often out very early; I shall be at the hollow, where we talked yesterday, early, at seven o'clock--you will come? If the morning is not fine, then the day after. Emily, you will meet me?' 'I will meet you.' He touched her fingers with his lips, took the paper, and hastened back to the house. His absence had not seemed long: it was only of five minutes. Reaching the open windows, he did not enter at once, but stood there and called to those within to come and admire the night; he felt his face hot and flushed. 'What is there remarkable about the night?' asked Mr. Athel, sauntering forwards. 'Come and look at this glorious moon, Miss Redwing,' Wilfrid exclaimed, once more with the natural friendliness of his habitual tone to her. 'It seems to have put you into excellent spirits,' remarked Mrs. Rossall, as, followed by Beatrice, she approached the window. 'Have you found the "Spectator?" that's the point.'