‘Go and put the lamp there, darling. May it be a star for you both, shining upon the beginning of a bright happy life!’ A few minutes later Edgar, standing in the shrubbery walk, with his eyes fixed on Daphne’s casement, the owner of them unconscious of winter’s cold, saw the bright spot of light stream out upon the darkness, and knew that he was to be blest. He went home like a man in a happy dream, scarce knowing by what paths he went; and it is a mercy he did not walk into the Avon and incontinently drown himself. CHAPTER XXII. ‘FOR I WOL GLADLY YELDEN HIRE MY PLACE.’ Edgar Turchill rode over to South Hill directly after breakfast next morning. It was a hunting-day, and the meet was at a favourite spot; but he had business to do which could brook no delay, and even the delight of skimming across the Vale of the Red Horse, on a hunter well able to carry him, must give way to the more vital matter which called him to the house on the hill. So soon as Sir Vernon Lawford might be fairly supposed to be accessible to a visitor, Mr. Turchill presented himself, and asked for an interview. He was ushered straight to Sir Vernon’s study, that sacred, and in a manner official chamber, which he had ever held in awe; a room in which the driest possible books, in the richest possible bindings, repelled the inquiring mind of an ordinary student, who, looking for Waverley, found himself confronted with Blackstone, or exploring for Byron, found himself face to face with Coke or Chitty. Here, Sir Vernon, seated reposefully in his great red morocco armchair, listened courteously to Edgar’s relation of his love, and his hope that, subject to parental approval, his constancy might speedily be rewarded. ‘I have heard something of this before,’ said Sir Vernon. ‘My sister told me you had proposed to Daphne, and had been rejected. I was sorry the child had not better taste; for I like you very much, Turchill, as I believe you know.’ ‘You have been very good to me,’ answered Edgar, reddening with the honest warmth of his feelings. ‘South Hill has been my second home. The happiest hours of my life have been spent here. Yes, Sir Vernon, Daphne certainly did refuse me in the summer; but I felt that it was my own fault. I spoke too soon. I ought to have bided my time. And last night, after the ball, I spoke again, and—’ ‘With a happier result,’ said Sir Vernon. ‘But Daphne is little more than a child—no wiser than a child in her whims and fancies. I should not like a straightforward fellow like you to suffer from a school-girl’s frivolity. Do you think she knows her own mind now any better than she did in the summer, when she gave you quite a different answer? Are you sure that she is in earnest—that she is as fond of you as you are of her?’