"No, Miss Darnel; and yet I am come to say good-bye." "Good-bye?" "We take the field to-morrow." "Against whom?" she asked, growing very pale; "the Insurgents?" "Yes--the French malcontents and others, I am sorry to say." "And to-morrow--oh, that is sudden indeed--mamma is from home--and--and----" Roland could see how her bosom heaved; his heart was rushing to his head, and he drew nearer to her. A black velvet riband, that hung down her back from her delicate white neck, was awry; he put it straight, and then trembled. No one surpassed Roland Ruthven in confidence with women, or at a little bout of _persiflage_ with a jolly flirting girl; but now he was very silent and sad. The frill of lace that encircled her neck was ruffled in one place, and by a delicate and almost caressing touch he smoothed it as her own brother might have done; then his hands stole softly downward and took each, of hers, while his heart beat like lightning. "Miss Darnel." She was trembling now, and her sweet face quivered. "Aurelia." "Well, Mr. Ruthven." "I am about to leave, it may be for ever." "Do not say so!" she said, almost imploringly, while her eyes filled with tears. "If anything in this world could make me feel like the Roland Ruthven of a year ago, hopeful, trustful, and happy, it is to see that I am not indifferent to you. Aurelia--my love--my darling!" She looked at him wistfully for a moment, and ere her white eyelids drooped, a long kiss came, and then a silence, full of happiness most strangely blended with an emotion of intense gratitude, while his arm went round her, and her face was nestled in his neck, and he began, at broken intervals, much that was soft nonsense; but "it was the nonsense which every woman loves to hear from one man (at least) during her life-time." Then suddenly, while still retaining her hands, and looking at her with infinite tenderness, he told of his great love for her, but how poverty had tied his tongue--poverty brought upon him through a will executed by his grandfather, which deprived him of all he possessed in the world, save his sword, for now the lost heir of Ardgowrie had been found, and no doubt by this time knew of his good fortune. Roland had to repeat this more than once ere she quite understood him, for Aurelia felt as one in a dream--but a dream of happiness, for "is there any other time," says some one, "like that, when the knowledge comes upon you, that you are singled out, that you are admired most, that one other person is happy only when near you, that eyes are watching for your eyes, that a hand is waiting to touch your hand, when every speech has a new meaning, every word a bewildering significance." "And you do love me?" she asked, in a low cooing whisper that filled his heart with rapture; he could only utter a deep sigh, and kiss her again. "And you are poor--Roland?"