Then a strange, wilful contradictious spirit took possession of her. This very outlet to her position had been in her mind--though unacknowledged--from the first presentment of the journey, and the new mother, and the resumed lessons; but now, that the gate was opened to her desire, something within her obstinately refused to move a step. Half the accidents in the hunting-field arise from arresting the horse in the leap, and half the disappointments of life may be laid to that hesitation, or stubbornness of will, which permits happiness--coming without notice, and demanding a confiding and instantaneous decision--to go past, and be probably lost for ever. "You do love me, Maria? Oh, yes! you must have caught love from me. At this hour, say one word to assure me--will you not? Maria! Queen of my soul, say you love me--Speak--only yes----Maria!" He waited, he watched her lovely face for some tender change, her eyes for some assuring glance, her lips for the one little word that would make the hour heaven to him, and she was still and speechless as some exquisite picture. "After all these happy weeks, will you send me away without one word? It is incredible--impossible! Why are you so cold?--now--when we must part--or be always together? Are you afraid to be with me always? You have promised to marry me----" "Yes--when the time comes." "Cannot love put the time forward?" "I don't know." "We could then go South together." "I do not want to go South." "With me, Maria?" "No." "Then you will go to London, and your father will have complete control of you, he may make you marry some other man." "No one can make me break my word of honor--you have my promise." "I am wretched. I am broken-hearted. I have failed in making you love me. I will go to the front--what does it matter if I am killed? You will not care." "Of course I shall care, Ernest." "Say that a little differently, then I shall be satisfied. Put your arms round my neck; kiss me, if only once, you never have kissed me yet, say, 'I love you, Ernest'; come, my dear one, comfort me a little!" Her heart was on fire, it throbbed and struggled like a bound creature. She looked sadly, even tenderly at her lover, but she could not break the thrall of careless impassiveness that bound her, as streams are bound in ice. Medway wearied himself with entreaty. She trembled to its passion, but remained inarticulate. He was at first disappointed, then astonished, then, weary with his own emotion, wounded and sorrowful. He rose, put on his hat and gloves, and prepared to leave her. It was like the nailing of the coffin lid over a sensitive form; but still that strange, insuperable apathy was not broken.