Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Six.
At Last.
The summer was drawing to an end; the ripe tints of the coming autumn were beginning to appear in many a rich clump of trees; but Sir Philip said, in his quiet courtly style, that Blandfield Court had never looked to greater advantage; for Mrs Brandon, her daughters, and Ella, had spent the day there.
And now, in the warm glow of a pleasant evening, just before dew-fall, Charley Vining was leading his fair betrothed along alley after alley, her light dress rustling from time to time among the first-fallen leaves. Hours upon hours they had spent alone together during her return to health; but never till this eve had Ella felt so great a tremor as that which now pervaded her frame. Was it that his eyes had spoken more eloquently than usual? She could not say; but now that he halted by the tree from which a rose had once been plucked, and led her to the garden-seat, there was no resistance, and she suffered him to draw her to his side closer, closer, closer still, till her fair hair mingled with his crisp curls, and her soft breath played upon his cheek.
“My own,” he cried softly, but in tremulous tones, “six months have passed now since I made you a promise.”
“Yes,” she whispered, as her hands rested upon his shoulder; and she nestled closer to his broad breast, dove-like in the gentleness and aspect of seeking protection where she knew she would be safe.
“I have kept the promise,” he said again. “Yes,” she replied, “to forgive, as we hope to be forgiven.”
There was silence then for a few moments before he spoke again.
“And now,” he said, “I claim my reward. Ella dearest, my own, can you forgive my weakness, my doubts, my boyish folly?”
“Forgive?” she said; and as she gazed up in his face there was a look of proud joy before her eyes sank, and her head drooped, blushing before his loving glance.
“I was weak, I own, mad; but tell me, Ella dearest. I have been patient.”
His voice was low as he pressed her still closer to his heart.
“Tell me,” he said, “tell me when;” and his voice had sunk to a whisper.
“Charley—husband,” she whispered, raising her eyes once more to his, “I am yours—when you will!”