But the sound of the music, the sight of the dancers, the effort to seem as if nothing had happened, was too much for his sell-control, and, excusing himself to his hostess, he was soon driving home, thankful to be out in the cold, fresh night air, which seemed to quiet his pulses and clear his thoughts. Cost him what it might, he would never give Ella up, unless she positively refused him, and of that he would not think. The slight and unsatisfactory taste of open love-making which he had snatched only served to increase the hunger for more. The indescribable, shrinking, despairing tone and gesture with which Ella cried, "Then I have lost you for my friend," was vividly present with him, and before he slept that night, or rather morning, he poured forth on paper all his love, his aspirations, that could be written. He did not, as letter-writing heroes generally do, sacrifice a hecatomb of note-paper. He knew what he wanted, and said it in good, terse, downright English, stamped with so much earnestness and honesty that it would have been a cold heart, much colder than Ella Rivers's, that could have read it unmoved. Then, like a sensible man--for in spite of the strong love fit upon him, and the rather insane line of conduct he had chosen to adopt, Wilton was a sensible fellow--he set himself to wait patiently till the following day, which might bring him a reply, or possibly a meeting with Ella herself, which he had most urgently entreated. That she would either write or come he felt sure, and so to while away the time he kept a half made appointment with some of his military friends, and enjoyed a sharp run over a stiff country with the D----shire hounds, and dined with the mess afterwards. He was, however, less composed next day when no letter reached him from Ella, and no Ella appeared at the tryst. The next day was stormy, with heavy showers, and the next was frosty--still no letter; still no Ella--and Wilton began to fret, and champ the bit of imperious circumstance with suppressed fury. If to-morrow brought no better luck he would endure it no longer, but make a bold inroad upon the fortress wherein his love--his proud, delicate darling--was held in durance vile.