"If I stay a moment it may probably stretch into an hour, and it really must not be; good-bye again, but only till to-morrow." She retreated into her room as he kissed hands to her; the window was closed, and he too went in for good.
We can imagine that, although it was very late when Flora got to bed, she was up betimes next morning, and took a stroll before breakfast, and of course it is unnecessary to say that her stroll was not a solitary one. Again they wandered down that walk which borders the lake,—that lake which evermore will be mirrored in Flora's memory as she saw it at eventide with the snowy mountains around it, crimsoned by the setting sun; then as it lay calm and unruffled in the pale silvery moonlight; and lastly as on that morning when the sun shone full upon it, and a light breeze tossed its waters into sparkling, dancing waves. It will ever be to her
"The greenest spot on memory's waste."
When they got a little way from the hotel, Mr. Earnscliffe said, "Mrs. Adair was so kind as to say that all the arrangements for our marriage could be made in Paris, and that she expects to arrive there in about ten days, but I want you to name the day when you will give yourself to me 'for better, for worse.' I feel a feverish impatience to have you in my own keeping—to be certain that nothing on earth can separate us more."
"What could separate us now, Edwin?"—she pronounced his name shyly; then laughed and looked up at him, saying, "Do you know that I still feel half afraid to call you by your Christian name; it sounds so strange that I should have the right to take such a liberty with so grand and unapproachable a personage as you are."
"What, child, afraid of your captive! You ought rather to triumph in your victory over one who made so fierce a resistance; and pray don't have the least fear of wounding your captive's pride by taking such liberties with him. You can never know how sweet it sounded to him last night when first he heard you say Edwin."
"Well then, Edwin, I ask again what could separate us now? Surely you have ceased to doubt me, and know that the chains in which you hold me cannot be riveted any tighter; the marriage ceremony will only bless them, and give me its sacred sanction to dwell in the mighty shadow of your love."
"Ceased to doubt you, dearest! Of course I have. There is no real love without trust; but I want you to be mine beyond the reach of all danger. I am like a man who has found some rich treasure in an open field, and can feel no rest or peace until he can convey it into his house and revel in its possession; until then he dreads, he knows not what, but that something may rob him of what is so precious to him. But does the treasure not wish to be taken home? Would it rather be left where it is for some time longer?"
"Oh, Edwin!"