Young Ravensworth felt his blood kindle, and felt angry at his folly in imagining she was a ghost, and eager to disabuse her of the idea, said, "No, Jenny, speak here--it is all trash--what is it?" "Na, na, not here. Either come, or I maun tell her ye willna come ava." "Her, who is her? I will come." And he hastened to follow Jeanie Forbes, who, when the rest of the family had left, was promoted to the rank of lady's-maid to Lady Florence, as a reward for her uniform kindness to the Countess in her imprisonment. Following his guide, he entered the castle by a back-door, and ascended the back-stairs till he reached the door of Lady Florence's room. "Tap thrice," said his guide, and disappeared in the darkness. For a minute he stood irresolute whether he should tap or not. Love overcame pride, and he gently struck the door thrice. A light step crossed the room, the door was opened, and he stood face to face with his lady love. "Come in; tread lightly," said the lady. "Oh! I am doing very wrong, Mr. Ravensworth! but I could not let you leave this without seeing you once more. It is very wrong--it may be, unmaidenly--I cannot help it! Sit down--there," pointing to a sofa. Hardly knowing what he did, he sank down on the sofa as he was bid. Lady Florence still kept standing. "Why have you brought me here, Lady Florence? For heaven's sake relieve me of my doubts!" The lady stood speechless. It was a fine picture: the despairing look of the lover, with his eyes cast on the ground, as if unable to lift them to the idol of his affections; the half earthly, half heavenly look of the lady, as if dying to breathe a word and kept back by an irresistible chain. She was still, of course, dressed as he had last seen her, save that her hair was let down, and in long tresses almost swept the ground as she bent forward, and with eyes swelling with tears, and hands clasped together, exclaimed, "Johnny, I _do_ love you!" As though he heard not, or understood not, he was silent as death for some seconds, and contending passions strove for mastery in his bosom. The pride, that would rather suffer than bend, fought against the love that would rather die than cause its object to suffer. For a few dread moments they fiercely contended, and, alas for love! pride vanquished, and he replied, "Lady Florence, you have trifled once with my tenderest feelings; you shall not again. Once refused, I am too proud to implore again the love denied me. Would we had not met! My peace is gone,--perhaps yours also." "Hear me, Johnny--hear me! I repent,--I bitterly repent of my folly. Why this false pride? Your peace, you say, is gone. I can give it back. My peace is gone. You can give it me again. Let me not ask in vain!"