“I must bless my fortune, then, that this house is not your aunt’s. I can even be glad you are not among friends here, since that leaves room in your heart for me. And yet I could slay any who were lacking in the friendship you had a right to expect of them. How can they be so, to _you_?” His gaze had so much ardour that her own eyes softened in it, and the consequence of that melting was that he swiftly folded her in his arms and pressed a kiss obliquely upon her lips. “Now I _must_ go,” she whispered, after a moment, gently pushing him away. “Now less than ever, sweet,” he replied, still clasping her. “Oh, but I must—sure I beg—Prudence will be looking for me.” Her insistence of manner was such that he dared not hold her longer without feeling guilty of violence. But he still retained her hand, to say: “And when will you be here again?” “I know not,” she answered, hurriedly. “How can I say?” “Well, then, whenever you do come, you will find me waiting for you.” “No, no; that will not be safe. I had forgotten the danger you are in. Do not come here at all—by daylight.—If you must, why, come after sunset. They will be at their cards and wine then.” “And you?—you are sure to be here then?” “’Tis the safest time. They will think me in my room—well, I may be here—to-morrow evening—if nothing prevents.” “But why not this evening?” “No. I will really go to my room this evening, as I did yesterday: they will take it as a matter of course afterwards. To-morrow evening, perhaps.” “But ’tis so far away: so many hours must pass till then!” He still detained her hand, though she was at arm’s length to be gone. “You will have the more time to reconsider—to resolve upon joining your friend, and not tarrying here longer at the risk of your life.” “What, do you still wish me to go at once?” “If you should be taken!—if you should have to meet the fate—oh, I dare not think of it! How can I wish you to stay, when I think of the danger?” “’Tis for me to think of the danger; ’tis for you only to let me love you—and to meet me here as often as you will.” “Well, I shall no doubt be here to-morrow after sunset. I must take my maid into confidence: she can keep watch at the terrace steps. Farewell, then!—and be careful—till to-morrow sunset!” He stepped forward in hope of repeating the kiss, but she recovered her hand from his grasp and fled rapidly up the lane of shrubbery. Everell followed, and saw her ascend the steps, hasten along the terrace, and disappear without looking back. He stood and sighed, thinking how short had been the long-awaited meeting, how tedious would be the time till the next. But he had the kiss to comfort his reflections, at least,—the kiss and the compliant though startled manner in which she had submitted to it. His heart glowing at this recollection, he turned his steps to the seclusion of the glen.