"But there must be no more acting--no more falsehood. We have both made up our minds, have we not, my beloved? I think you love me--yes, Christabel, I feel secure of your love. You did not deny it to-day, when I asked that thrilling question--those hidden eyes, the conscious droop of that proud head, were more eloquent than words. And for my love, Christabel--no words can speak that. It shall be told by-and-by in language that all the world can understand--told by my deeds. The time has come for decision; I have had news to-day that renders instant action necessary. If you and I do not leave Cornwall together to-morrow, we may be parted for ever. Have you made up your mind?" "Hardly," she answered, her fingers still slowly moving over the keys in those plaintive arpeggios. "What is your difficulty, dearest? Do you fear to face the future with me?" "I have not thought of the future." "Is it the idea of leaving your child that distresses you?" "I have not thought of him." "Then it is my truth--my devotion which you doubt?" "Give me a little more time for thought," she said, still playing the same _sotto voce_ accompaniment to their speech. "I dare not; everything must be planned to-night. I must leave this house early to-morrow morning. There are imperative reasons which oblige me to do so. You must meet me at Bodmin Road Station at eleven--you must, Christabel, if our lives are to be free and happy and spent together. Vacillation on your part will ruin all my plans. Trust yourself to me, dearest--trust my power to secure a bright and happy future. If you do not want to be parted from your boy, take him with you. He shall be my son. I will hold him for you against all the world." "You must leave this house early to-morrow morning," she said, looking up at him for the first time. "Why?" "For a reason which I cannot tell you. It is a business in which some one else is involved, and I am not free to disclose it yet. You shall know all later." "You will tell me, when we meet at Bodmin Road." "Yes. Ah, then you have made up your mind--you will be there. My best and dearest, Heaven bless you for that sweet consent." "Had we not better leave Heaven out of the question?" she said with a mocking smile; and then slowly, gravely, deliberately, she said, "Yes, I will meet you at eleven o'clock to-morrow, at Bodmin Road Station--and you will tell me all that has happened." "What secret can I withhold from you, love--my second self--the fairer half of my soul?"