"Oh, Norton! have you come back again?"
Her voice vibrated between passion and pathos. Her trembling limbs rustled the silken garments around her.
He stood looking at her, not sternly, but with grave sadness. It was nearly two months since they had met, but he did not advance, or even reach out his hand. Then she cried out, in a burst of bitter anguish:
"Oh, Norton, will you not speak to me?"
"Yes, Rachael," he said, very gently. "I came to speak with you."
Lord Hope advanced through the window. No lights were burning, for in her sadness Rachael had thought the moonbeams enough.
She moved upon the couch, looking in his face with pathetic entreaty.
He sat down after a moment's hesitation, and took her hand in his.
Awhile before that hand had been cold as ice, but now a glow of feverish joy warmed it, and her slender fingers clung around his with nervous force. She was afraid to loosen her clasp, lest he should leave her again.
"Ah, Norton! you have been away so long, so long!"