At times her nether lip quivered; the tears began to roll over her cheeks, and as a sigh escaped her, the heaving movement of her neck and shoulders made more apparent their graceful character and undulating curve. Then suddenly, as with her quick white fingers she was proceeding to coil up the tresses of her hair for the night, a sound seemed to startle her, she paused, and her eyes flashed and dilated with surprise. "There it is again--good heavens--what can it be?" she exclaimed half aloud, and rising from her seat, as Audley tapped very audibly on the window panes for a second time. "The deuce!" thought he, "I hope she won't scream--for that would spoil all." With a candle in her hand, she paused midway between the window and her dressing-table, when he said distinctly,-- "It is I, dearest Sybil--Audley Trevelyan--open the window, and speak with me--but for a moment." "Audley--you--you--here at this hour!" replied Sybil, with intense astonishment, bordering on fear. She replaced the candle on the table, clasped her hands, and shrunk back irresolutely, for though she fully recognised the voice that thrilled her heart's core, it was somewhat bewildering to hear it there and at such a time; but summoning courage she drew up the blind, and beheld Audley's whole figure on the upper step, which formed the sill of her window. "Oh, Audley--Audley--what has happened--what brings you here again?" she asked imploringly. "The love I bear you," said he, humbly. "You cannot think of entering here!" "Far from it, dearest Sybil--I have no such thought; but pardon me for alarming you--pardon me for intruding on you thus." "I do pardon you, but require you to explain--" "The object of such a visit at such a time," said he, lowering his voice lest he should be overheard in the stillness of the night. "Most certainly," said she, weeping. "Have you indeed discarded me--withdrawn your heart from me, and for ever, Sybil?" "What would you have me to do, Audley?" "There is an arbour in the garden--throw a shawl over you, and grant me but a minute to say a few farewell words." "The moment you first asked for has become a minute--so would the minute soon become an hour." "In pity to me, Sybil," urged Audley, with clasped hands. After a little indecision, seeming to listen and perceive that all was still, she threw a shawl over her head, unbolted the French sash, and stepped forth into the garden, where now the light of an uprisen moon fell in a bright flood upon the grass plots, the shining evergreens, and tipped all the leafless trees with liquid silver. There seemed a divine peace over all the earth and sky; but the hearts of these two young people were sad and aching, while Audley pressed a long and silent kiss upon her upturned face, as he led her towards the bower in question.