“Nothing—nothing, sweet!” But whatever he might say, it was no longer possible for him to counterfeit either gaiety or unconcern with any success. “God knows, I would be the same now—I would have us both be the same now—as we have been all this week. I grudge every thought that we give to anything but our love. Let us have the full worth of each moment, to the very end.—Nay, what am I saying? I rave, I think. Yes, yes, dear, I speak strangely—strangely was well said.” “Everell, you frighten me! What is behind all this?—what is it you have in mind?” “Only you, dear: you, as you are at this instant. There is nothing but this instant—no past, no future!—there is only _now_, with you in my arms, and your eyes looking into mine. Oh, if the course of time could be stopped, and this moment last for ever!” “I should be content,” said Georgiana, taking refuge in the possibility that his manner might be the effect of a transient excess of emotion, such as ardent lovers sometimes experience. “But haven’t we all our lives in which to love each other? We must only guard against your being taken. But you’ll be safe once you are out of England—as you will be by and by—not yet, of course. And then after awhile we shall meet again in France. My only dread is of the separation meanwhile—’tis fearful to think of separation, even for a short time, but doubtless it must be—” She broke off, with a sigh. “Ay, must be!” Everell replied, in a low voice. “But it must not be long. I believe my uncle will be glad of an occasion to visit France. And then, when danger and separation are past, what happiness!” She had, it will be seen, formed her own plans for the future; and had talked of them, too, more than once in the last few days, taking her lover’s acquiescence for granted, as indeed his manifestations of love gave her full right to do. Such initiative on the woman’s side is, by a convention of romancers, assumed to be indelicate; if it be so, then the world must grant that real women are not the delicate creatures they have been taken for. Be that as it may, Georgiana’s dreams of the future had been bitter-sweet hearing to Everell, though he saw nothing indelicate in her mentioning them. Yet he could not bring himself to disillusion her. But now at last, when the hour was drawing near— “Nay, talk not of the future, dear,” he said, holding her close in his arms, and endeavouring to speak without wildness. “There is only the present, I say. Life is full of uncertainty. Who can tell? This separation—it may be final—we may not see each other again.” “Now you start my fears again!” cried Georgiana. “You puzzle me to-night, Everell. There’s something in your thoughts—something in your heart. Look at me: you are pale—one would suppose a calamity was before us. What is it? Oh, in the name of heaven, tell me!”