"Oh, Walton, can you ask?"
The great blue eyes, lifted to his, were swimming in tears, yet the quivering lips made a brave effort to smile.
A painful thought struck him then, and his heart sunk like lead under it.
"It would be a strange thing if you had not felt anxious, Rose; for no brother ever loved an only sister better than I have loved you."
As he uttered these words, Hurst was watching that fair young face with keen interest. He saw the color fade from it, until the rich red of the beautiful mouth had all died away. Then he gathered the silken cushion roughly together, so as to shade his own face, and a faint groan came from him.
"Are you in pain?" questioned the young lady, bending over him. "Can I do anything?"
Her breath floated across his mouth, her loose curls swept downward, and almost touched him.
The young man turned his face to the wall, and made no answer. He was heart-sick.
And so was she even to faintness.
He lay minute after minute, buried in thought. The young lady had no other refuge for her wounded pride, so she fell to work again; but not on the same object. Now she sat down to a drawing of the Black Lake. The old summer-house was a principal object in the foreground, and the banks, heavy with rushes, and broken with ravines, completed a gloomy but picturesque scene, which had a wonderfully artistic effect.