Oh, the bright light that sometimes breaks through a dark cloud! Gloom, sorrow, fear had beset us during the whole of the preceding night and that eventful morning; but every step, every moment, had strengthened the bonds between Bessy's heart and mine as we went on together in the truest and most touching relation of woman to man--the protected and the protector. The agitation and the danger, too, lent the charm of contrast to the comparative calm and security with which we sat in that sequestered spot uncrossed by any path; and, as we partook of our scanty meal, with my arm supporting her waist, and her shoulder partly resting on my bosom, we both tasted a kind of happiness, only brightened by the gloom of all around, which is seldom vouchsafed to any in the course of this troublesome life. CHAPTER XXI. Bessy and I had time enough to talk over many things; yet no word of love was spoken between us--no reference made to the subjects which had so completely engrossed us not eighteen hours before. She was completely in my power. I might have said what I pleased, exacted what promises I pleased; but I would not take so cruel an advantage of her position. There was something so trusting, too, so confiding, so utterly and entirely reliant in her own conduct, that I should never have forgiven myself in after years if I had shown the least want of generosity in deed, or word, or thought towards her in such a situation. Nor, indeed, was it at all necessary to say anything. Her head rested on my bosom; her beautiful eyes looked up confidingly in my face; her hand lay clasped in mine. What need of words to speak all that was in our hearts? As old Sterne truly says, "Talking of love is not making love;" and it was sufficient for us to feel that we did truly love each other. Two or three hours passed by, and they did not seem long. Everything was still and quiet around us. There was no further sound of musketry, no galloping of horse. Once or twice I left her for a few minutes to approach as near as was prudent to the one path or the other, which were here separated by a belt of wood not more than three hundred yards wide. But nothing could I discover. No sound met my ear; no moving object was to be seen as far as the trees would let my eye penetrate. I believe--I even then believed--that we might go on in safety. But, ever self-deceiving, human nature would not let me act upon the belief which was really in my heart. Those hours there with Bessy were so very, very sweet, that surely I may be forgiven for conjuring up imaginary dangers, and forcing myself to believe them real; and summoning prudence and discretion to second the voice of inclination. Dear Bessy, did you not give in to the self-delusion too?