“Do you really want to dance every dance? See how brightly the moon shines above the trees, and the air is still and warm without. Will you not show me the view from the Terrace. It must be lovely at this hour, stretched beneath the harvest moon.” “Papa will miss me should he tear himself away from the Earl and the Madeira.” “He will miss me, too, and know you are in safe keeping.” “H’m, perhaps. Well, it is hot within.” “Adjust my wrap, so. Now, your arm, and you shall see as sweet a vista as ever eyes gazed upon—the Axholme winding through the shorn fields with the moon upon its bosom.” In silence, side by side, they drank into their souls the solemn beauty of the darkling scene. The music of the instruments floated through the casement and fell with mellowed cadence on their ears. An owl hooted from the ivy that clung about the ancient towers; the river beneath them coiled sinuously almost at the Castle base, and the full moon with harvest beam played upon the rich treasures of the ripened grain. “We have nothing to equal this in my part of the country. ’Tis an idyll. It breathes the spirit of peace, the gospel of content. Sure everything is for the best in this best of all possible worlds.” “That’s the first Christian sentiment I have ever heard you utter, sir.” “Miss St. Clair,” said Edward very gravely, “I had a purpose in asking you to forego the dance and bear me company a while where I could say to you that of which my heart is full. And now I seek in vain for words to tell you what I would. Miss St. Clair, Eleanor, I have presumed to love you. How great is that presuming none can know so acutely as myself. But I love you. To-morrow I must return to Yorkshire and I could not go, my love untold. Perhaps I ought to have spoken first to the Archdeacon, to your father; but it is not so we woo in my class. I can offer you nothing but my love to make my suit more pleasing in your ears. Unless your own heart, fair Eleanor, should be my mediator, I must sue as one without hope. Say, Eleanor, that I do not speak too presumptuously, can I hope the love I offer you, the life I would dedicate to you are not spurned as worthless and unfit.” “Not spurned, Mr. Beaumont—surely not spurned!” said Eleanor, in a voice so low, ’twas scarce a whisper. “I will not win you, Eleanor, by false pretences. Though my profession is an honourable one, and my social position respectable, it does not equal yours. I number no Earls and no Countesses among my friends, and the great mansions do not receive me as a guest. But I am young, the world is all before me, and for your sweet sake I feel I could greatly dare and perhaps greatly do. Give me your glove, Eleanor, to wear in the fray and it shall not be soiled in the dust of the lists.”