Uncertain whether a declaration would or not be premature, I decided to leave the castle early next morning, and to reflect for at least a month on my decision. Rachel had acquired a strong influence over me, and I dared not venture to free myself from her bonds without tightening my armour. So, rising almost before daybreak, I set out in secret, from the village inn despatching a short note:-- ‘My dear Rachel,--Do not attempt to fathom the motive which compels me to leave Furnivaux. Impute it, if you will, to flightiness. I was always fond of doing strange things. I shall return in a month--a month to-day.--RALPH EYRE.’ My meditating place was Northen Hall, a small manor-house situated about two hundred miles away. I had inherited it from my mother. It stands in a little park, outside an antiquated market town. I had installed Jeffreys, my father’s old friend, and he was living out the remainder of his years in ease and solitude. He was standing in the walled rose-garden when I reached the place. Half his time since my father’s death had been spent with me in Italy; but the climate had proved unsuited to him, and he had been compelled to return to England. The affection he greeted me with was very touching. Although I had always been very tiresome, I have no doubt that he loved me deeply. A suite of rooms had been kept in readiness for me, and I was soon made comfortable therein. I had much writing to do, and for some days worked hard, so that I might drive away the thought of my dilemma. But after awhile, when I was idle again, the remembrance of Mary’s timid loveliness haunted me from morning to night, and I began to long for the time of my return. The momentous day came at last. Rachel Verelst, like another Fiammetta, clad in a gown of dull dark green, with scarlet lilies at the neck, met me on the terrace. There was a slightly puzzled look in her eyes, when I did not give her the warm greeting she evidently expected; but she slipped her arm into mine with as much graceful ease as if she were already my wife. There was no sign of Mary, and when I inquired for her Rachel replied evasively. Not until I went to the drawing-room after dinner did I see her. She was alone, sitting near a window, with a book in her hands. She gave a sudden start when she saw me. ‘O Rafe,’ she cried, ‘when did you come? I did not know you were here: Rachel would not tell me anything about you, either where you were or why you went, and I have only just come in from riding to watch the sunset.’ Before she had done speaking I had clasped her in my arms and was showering kisses on her lips. ‘Mary,’ I whispered, ‘I have come back for you!’ She began to extricate herself, but before I had released her the door opened, and Rachel herself entered. CHAPTER III