He knew not precisely how it was with Alison, whom he regarded with a species of adoration, but deep in his heart sank the delightful consciousness that his love pleased her, and that when they did meet again it should have some firmer basis than that brief and stolen meeting had given it. He now understood much of the shyness and timidity her manner had of late exhibited. He hoped now that he also understood the half veiled light that had filled her grey-blue eyes at his approach, and the sweet roseate flush that crossed her cheek, to leave it paler than before. She would soon learn to love him fully and confidently, and he would be content to wait for the coming joy of a regular engagement. But how about Sir Ranald Cheyne's views; how about Cadbury's too probable offers; how about 'the Fate' which, with a broken voice, she said the knowledge of his love for her would but anticipate? CHAPTER VII. JERRY AND THE WIDOW. Alison's tears, agitation, and fears, together with her admission that he was far from indifferent to her--the memory of their mutual kisses, and all that had passed so briefly, sank deeply into the heart of Bevil Goring, who thought the secret terms on which they now were, if they were to meet again, as he could not doubt, were ridiculous to himself and derogatory to her. His natural impulses of honour led him to think he should at once address Sir Ranald on the subject; but the girl's dread of his doing so made him pause. He thought he would consult Dalton or Wilmot on the subject; but the former was on duty, and the latter was full of his own affairs; for Jerry, in fact, had made up his mind to propose--to Mrs. Trelawney! Jerry made a more than usually careful toilette that forenoon, and was more than ever irreproachable in the matters of boots, gloves, studs, and collar, even to the waxen flower at his button-hole--all with the aid of his soldier valet, Larry O'Farrel, whom he had just found deep in the columns of the _Aldershot Military Gazette_. 'Any news, O'Farrel?' asked Jerry, as he rasped his thick hair with a pair of ivory-handled brushes to adjust the parting of his back hair. 'Only that the Sultan of Turkey is dead, sir.' 'The deuce he is--died of want of breath, I suppose?' 'Yes, sir; strangled or something of that kind, sir.' 'Well, O'Farrel, would you like to be Sultan of Turkey? The berth would suit you, for, like the Bradies, "You'd make a most iligant Turk, Being fond of tobacco and ladies."' 'Shouldn't mind, sir, if the pay and allowances was good.' 'Well,' said Jerry, who was in excellent spirits with himself and the world at large, 'send in your application in proper form through me as the captain of your company, and in time I have not the slightest doubt you will be O'Farrel the First.' Jerry said all this so gravely and impressively that, though used to his jokes, not a smile spread over the face of Larry, who raised his right hand in salute while standing erect as a pike.