There was just moonlight enough to enable them to find it, and when they found it they sat down side by side, and Rachel laid her head on one of her lover's broad shoulders and her hand on the other; and they remained there for several minutes without moving or speaking, listening to the far-off sound of the piano, more perfectly at rest than either of them had ever imagined it possible to be in this world.
Mr. Dalrymple spoke first, drawing a long breath.
"Must we be separated any more, Rachel? Can't we be married now—this week—to-morrow—and go away from everybody quietly? It seems like tempting Providence to lose sight of one another again—to lose one hour more than we can help of what we have been kept out of all this time."
"It does—it does," assented Rachel. "But I promised Aunt Elizabeth that I would be a widow for a year."
"You were a widow for me—how many years?"
"I know, Roden, I know. I do not do it willingly. But other people—other things—have to be considered."
"Six months more! Child, no one has any right to demand such an enormous sacrifice of us. Who knows how long we may live to be together as we want to be together? Can we afford to throw away six months on the top of six years for the sake of mere sham propriety, knowing the worth of every hour as we do?"
"Roden," said Rachel gently, after a pause, "it shall be just as you like. If you think we ought not to wait, we will not. I can explain to Aunt Elizabeth."
And then he recognised his responsibilities.
"No," he said, "I think perhaps we had better wait—though there is no sense or justice in it. We'll pay Mrs. Grundy the heaviest price that she has swindled honest people of for many a day, and then we'll take it out with interest. But you will do something for me in the meantime?"