“I have come out here on many such nights, and never the worse for it. Can't you fancy Jack Kellett's sister equal to more than this?” said she, smiling through all her sadness, as she led the way to the door. And now they were upon the road, the wild rain and the gusty wind beating against them, and almost driving them back. So loud the storm that they did not try to speak, but with her arm close locked within his own, Conway breasted the hurricane with a strange sensation of delight he had never known before. Scarcely a word passed between them as they went; as the rain beat heavily against her he would try as well as he could to shelter her; when the cutting wind blew more severely, he would draw her arm closer within his own; and yet, thus in silence, they grew to each other like friends of many a year. A sense of trustfulness, a feeling of a common object too, sufficed to establish between them a sentiment to be moulded by the events of after-life into anything. Ay, so is it! Out of these chance affinities grow sometimes the passion of a life, and sometimes the disappointments that embitter existence! “What a good fortune it was that brought you to my aid to-night,” said she; “I had not dared to have come this long road alone.” “What a good fortune mine to have even so humble a service to render you! Jack used to talk to me of you for hours long. Nights just like this have we passed together; he telling me about your habits and your ways, so that this very incident seems to fit into the story of your life as an every-day occurrence. I know,” continued he, as she seemed to listen attentively, “how you used to ride over the mountains at home, visiting wild and out-of-the-way spots; how you joined him in his long fishing excursions, exploring the deep mountain gorges while he lingered by the riverside. The very names you gave these desolate places--taken from old books of travel--showed me how a spirit of enterprise was in your heart.” “Were they not happy days!” murmured she, half to herself. “They must have been,” said he, ardently; “to hear of them has charmed the weariest watches of the night, and made me long to know you.” “Yes; but I am not what I was,” said she, hastily. “Out of that dreamy, strange existence I have awakened to a world full of its own stern realities. That pleasant indolence has ill prepared me for the road I must travel; and it was selfish too! The vulgarest cares of every-day life are higher aims than all the mere soarings of imagination, and of this truth I am only now becoming aware.” “But it was for never neglecting those very duties Jack used to praise you; he said that none save himself knew you as other than the careful mistress of a household.” “Poor fellow! ours was an humble retinue, and needed little guidance.” “I see,” said Conway, “you are too proud to accept of such esteem as mine; but yet you can't prevent me offering it.” “Have I not told you how I prize your kindness?” said she, gently.