“So, fair spirit,” said he, jocularly, “I have tracked you, it would seem;” then, for the first time discovering it was Helen, he muttered in a different tone, “I ask pardon, Miss Darcy; I really did not know--” “I am sure of that, Captain Forester,” said she, disengaging herself from his aid. “I certainly deserve a lesson for my silly attempt to frighten you, and I believe I have sprained my ankle. Will you kindly send Florence to me?” “I cannot leave you here alone, Miss Darcy; pray take my arm, and let me assist you back to the abbey.” The tone of deference he now spoke in, and the increasing pain, concurred to persuade her, and she accepted the proffered assistance. “The absurdity of this adventure is not repaid by the pleasure of having frightened you,” said she, laughing; “if I could only say how terrified you were--” “You might indeed have said so,” interrupted Forester, “had I guessed the figure I saw leap out was yours.” “It was even higher than I thought,” said she, avoiding to remark the fervent accents in which these words were spoken. Forester was silent; his heart was full to bursting; the passion so lately dashed by doubts and suspicions returned with tenfold force now that he felt her arm within his own as step by step they moved along. “You are in great pain, I fear,” said he, tremulously. “No, not now. I am so much more ashamed of my folly than a sufferer from it that I could forgive the sprain if I could the silly notion that caused it. 'Twas an unlucky fancy, to say the least of it.” Again there was a pause, and although they walked but slowly, they were fast approaching the little gate that opened into the flower-garden. Forester was silent. “Was it from this cause, or by some secret freemasonry of the female heart that she suspected what was passing in his mind, and exerted herself to move on more rapidly? “Take time, Miss Darcy; not so fast; if not for your sake, for mine at least.” The last few words were scarcely above a whisper, but every one of them reached her to whom they were addressed; whether affecting not to hear them, or preferring to mistake their meaning, Helen made no answer. “I said for _my_ sake,” resumed he, with a courage that demanded all his energy, “because on these few moments the whole fortune of my future life is placed. I love you.” “Nay, Captain Forester,” said she, smiling, “this is not quite fair; I failed in my attempt to terrify you, and have paid the penalty: let there not be a further one of my listening to what I should not hear.” “And why not hear it, Helen? Is the devotion of one even humble as I am, a thing to offend? Is it the less sincere that I feel how much you are above me in every way? Will not my very presumption prove how fervent is the passion that has made me forget all save itself,--all save you?”