From that hour a change came over them; they were more reserved, less frank, apparently, and, outwardly, less joyous. In the presence of Flora, Quentin grew timid, and he became more earnestly, but quietly, assiduous to her than before. Each, in absence, thought more of the other's image or idea; and each weighed the words, and treasured the stolen smiles and tender tones of the other. _They were lovers now!_ It was the voice of nature that spoke in their hearts. Flora had long loved her young companion without exactly knowing it. The episode of the river had brought the passion to a culminating point, and the veil was raised now. She saw his position and her own; and, while experiencing all a young girl's pride and rapture in the assurance that she has a lover, a strange sense of trouble came with her new emotion of joy. As for Quentin, he slept but little that night; yet it was not his wetting in the river that kept him awake. He felt himself a new being--he trod on air! He rehearsed to himself again and again the adventure of the flooded stream, and went to sleep at last, with the memory of Flora's kisses on his lips, and murmuring the conviction which brought such delight to his young heart-- "She loves me! Dear, dear Flora loves me!" CHAPTER XII. A LAST KISS. "Yes; open your heart! be glad, Glad as the linnet on the tree: Laugh, laugh away--and merrily Drive away every dream that's sad. Who sadness takes for joy is mad-- And mournful thought Will come unsought." After the climax recorded in our last chapter, events succeeded each other with great rapidity at the castle of Rohallion. At that period of our story, Flora Warrender had attained her full stature--the middle height. In form, she was round, firm, and well developed--plump, to speak plainly--yet she was both symmetrical and graceful. Her eyes, we have said, were a kind of violet grey, clear, dark and exquisitely soft. Long lashes, and the remarkable form of her white lids, doubtless gave them this expression. Her forehead was low and broad, rather than high; her smile won all, and there was a charming air of delicacy and refinement in her manner, over all her person, and in all she said or did. The form of her hand and foot alone sufficed to indicate her station, family and nurture. "There is a mysterious character, heightened, indeed, by fancy and passion, but not without foundation in reality and observation, which lovers have ever imputed to the object of their affections," says Charles Lamb; and viewed through this most favourable medium, to the mind of Quentin Kennedy, young and ardent as he was, Flora Warrender, in all the bloom of her beauty and girlhood, seemed indeed something "exceeding nature." Thus it was with a heart filled with painful anticipations of coming trouble, that he heard Lord Rohallion, one morning at breakfast, when Jack Andrews emptied the contents of the letter-bag before him, exclaim,--