“Is it in consequence of some rash vow?”
“It is something of the kind,” she answered. “Some day I may tell you, but at present you had better leave me; and never, Gilbert, put me to the painful necessity of repeating what I have just now said to you,” she earnestly added, giving me her hand in serious kindness. How sweet, how musical my own name sounded in her mouth!
“I will not,” I replied. “But you pardon this offence?”
“On condition that you never repeat it.”
“And may I come to see you now and then?”
“Perhaps—occasionally; provided you never abuse the privilege.”
“I make no empty promises, but you shall see.”
“The moment you do our intimacy is at an end, that’s all.”
“And will you always call me Gilbert? It sounds more sisterly, and it will serve to remind me of our contract.”
She smiled, and once more bid me go; and at length I judged it prudent to obey, and she re-entered the house and I went down the hill. But as I went the tramp of horses’ hoofs fell on my ear, and broke the stillness of the dewy evening; and, looking towards the lane, I saw a solitary equestrian coming up. Inclining to dusk as it was, I knew him at a glance: it was Mr. Lawrence on his grey pony. I flew across the field, leaped the stone fence, and then walked down the lane to meet him. On seeing me, he suddenly drew in his little steed, and seemed inclined to turn back, but on second thought apparently judged it better to continue his course as before. He accosted me with a slight bow, and, edging close to the wall, endeavoured to pass on; but I was not so minded. Seizing his horse by the bridle, I exclaimed,—“Now, Lawrence, I will have this mystery explained! Tell me where you are going, and what you mean to do—at once, and distinctly!”