There were spurs imaginary jingling at Rolph's heels, and the steel scabbard of a sabre banging about his legs, as he turned and strode away, whistling. And then there was silence amidst the tall columnar pines, which looked as if carved out of black marble, save where the moonlight streamed through, cutting them sharply as it were, leaving some with bright patches of light, and dividing others into sections of light and darkness. There was not even a sigh now in the dark branches overhead, not a sound but the heavy, hoarse breathing of Moray Alleyne, as he stood there fighting against the terrible emotion that made him quiver. He had listened to the coarsely brutal language of this man of athleticism, borne his taunts, his insults, as beneath him to notice, for there was another and a greater mental pain whose contemplation seemed to madden him till his sufferings were greater than he could bear. If it had been some bright, talented man--officer, civilian, cleric, anything, so that he had been worthy and great, he could have borne it; but for Glynne, whose sweet eyes seemed day by day to be growing fuller of wisdom, whose animated countenance was brightening over with a keener intelligence that told of the workings of a mind whose latent powers were beginning to dawn, to be pledged to this overbearing brutal man of thews and sinews, it was a sacrilege; and, after standing there, forgetful of his own wrongs, the insults that he had borne unmoved, he suddenly seemed to awaken to his agony; and, uttering a bitter cry, he flung himself face downwards upon the earth. "Glynne, my darling--my own love!" There was none to hear, none to heed, as he lay there clutching at the soft loose pine needles for a time, and then lying motionless, lost to everything--to time, to all but his own misery and despair. Volume 2, Chapter II. ATTRACTION. A few moments later there was a faint rustling noise as of some one hurrying over the fir needles, and a lightly-cloaked figure came for an instant into the moonlight, but shrank back in among the tree-trunks. "Rob!" was whispered--"Rob, are you there?" Alleyne started up on one elbow, and listened as the voice continued,-- "Don't play with me, dear. I couldn't help being late. Father seemed as if he would never go out." There was a faint murmur among the heads of the pines, and the voice resumed. "Rob, dear, don't--pray don't. I'm so nervous and frightened. Father might be watching me. I know you're there, for I heard you whistle." Alleyne remained motionless. He wanted to speak but no words came; and he waited as the new-comer seemed to be listening till a faintly-heard whistling of an air came on the still night air from somewhere below in the sandy lane.