Sir Hugh and Rowland joined in the succeeding games; and sixpences, sweetmeats, apples, and every available prize was given to the boys and girls for racing, jumping, singing, and the like, until the shades of evening fell over the scene.
Lady Mary Nugent and her daughter were the first to wish good-night; as they were to walk home, Colonel Vaughan proposed accompanying them.
'You will return at once?' asked Freda, rather peremptorily, for she disliked that the Nugents should carry off the all-fascinating colonel.
He bowed and said 'yes,' and Rowland, who was near, saw Freda's cheek flush as he looked at her.
It chanced that Rowland and Miss Gwynne were left together at a distance from the revel. They stood awhile, looking on, and talking over the day. Rowland said it had been most successful. Indeed he felt that all had been pleased; none more than himself, for had not everyone congratulated him, and above all, had not Miss Gwynne been even kinder and more friendly, than when by his mother's bed side she had seemed to him as a sister?
'If it has been successful, Mr Rowland, it is in a great measure due to you,' said Miss Gwynne, looking up into his face with a smile of real satisfaction. 'I should never have managed the children so well, and I must say, much as I like your uncle, I don't think he would have managed the services so well as you have done.'
Reader! were you ever praised by a very handsome woman, whom you have loved all your life, when standing with her alone under a wide-spreading oak, in a noble park, with mountains bathed in the red and yellow of the sunset before you, and a broad harvest-moon rising above your heads? If so, you will not wonder at the end of this chapter.
Rowland suddenly fixed his fine, dark eyes upon Freda's face, and looked into it, as if he would read her soul. For a moment she was abashed at the gaze, and coloured deeply, whilst her eye-lids drooped over the eyes he sought. Was there ever a woman who was not flattered and excited by such a look?
'Miss Gwynne,' at last said Rowland tremulously, 'if in any way I can have served and pleased you I am happy. For this, in part, I have laboured, and still would labour. You do not, you cannot know how I have loved you all my life.'
Poor Rowland almost whispered these few words, and as he did so, wished he could recall them, but now the deed was done, and she knew the secret of his childhood, boyhood, and manhood. He said no more, but stood looking down upon her with his heart beating as it had never beaten before.