'I thought I ought to send you away,' she faltered, looking up at last, and her whole heart was in her face. 'Robert, I don't know if I love you; but I love you to love me,' she said. And her sweet voice trembled as she spoke.
He had no misgivings. 'Dearest Dolly,' he said, in a low voice. 'In future you must trust to me. I will take care of you. You need not have been afraid. I quite understood your feelings just now, and I would not urge you then. Now....' He did not finish the sentence.
When Dolly, the frigid maiden, surrendered, it was with a shy reluctant grace. Hers was not a passionate nature, but a loving one; feeling with her was not a single simple emotion, but a complicated one of many impulses: of self-diffidences, of deep, deep, strange aspirations, that she herself could scarcely understand. Humility, a woman's pride, the delight of companionship and sympathy, and of the guidance of a stronger will: a longing for better things. All these things were there. Ah! she would try to be worthier of him. It was a snow and ice and fire maiden who put her trembling hand into Robert's, and whom he clasped for an instant in his arms.
Meanwhile some of the party had straggled off again to the hotel after Mrs. Palmer. George was to escort the young ladies, who seemed determined to stay on turning over the manuscripts; the unlucky Zoe was babbling innocently, knocking over stools and playfully pulling Latin sermons and dictionaries out of their places on the shelves. George, while he made himself agreeable in his peculiar fashion, was wondering what was going on at the farther end of the library. He longed to tell Rhoda and ask her advice; but that tiresome Zoe was for ever interrupting. Was this a very old book? Did he like Greek or Latin best? She thought it all looked very stupid. Was Rhoda coming to the hotel to rest before dinner? And so on. Rhoda must have guessed what was in George's mind, for presently she started away from the page over which she was leaning, and went to the window.
'Shall we go out a little way?' she said, gently. 'One would like to be everywhere to-day.'
'I'm sure we have been everywhere,' said Zoe.
'I know you are tired. I shall not allow you to come, dear Zoe,' said Rhoda, affectionately. 'You must rest; I insist upon it. You look quite worn out. Mr. George, will you help me?' And Rhoda began struggling with a heavy chair, which she pulled into the window. 'And here is a stool,' said Rhoda, 'for your feet. We will come back for you directly. My head aches; I want a little fresh air.'
'Oh, thank you,' said Zoe, doubtfully. 'Do I look tired, Rhoda? I am sure....' But Rhoda was gone before she had time to say more. Zoe was not sure if she was pleased or not. It was just like Rhoda: she never could understand what people wanted, really; she was always kissing them and getting them chairs out of the way. No doubt she meant to be kind. Rest! anybody could rest for themselves. What was that noise? 'Who is there?' says Zoe, out loud, but there was no answer. Yes, she wanted to be with the others. Why did they poke her away up here? by leaning out of the open window she could just see the ivy wall, and the garden beyond. There was no one left under the tree. They were all gone: just like them. How was she to find her way to the hotel! It was all very well for Rhoda, who had George Vanborough at her beck and call; they knew well enough she had nobody to take care of her, and they should have waited for her. That was what Zoe thought. There was that noise again, and a murmur, and some one stirring. Poor Zoe jumped up with her heart in her mouth; she knocked over the stool; she stood prepared to fly; she heard some one whispering; they might be garotters, ghosts, proctors—horror! Her terrors overpower her. Her high heels clatter down the wooden stairs, out into the sunny, silent court, where her footsteps echo as she runs—poor nymph flying from an echo! George and Rhoda are walking quietly up and down in the sunshine just beyond the ivy gate: their two shadows are flitting as they go. John Morgan is coming in at the great entrance. Zoe rushes up to him, panting with her terror.
'Oh, John,' she says, 'I didn't know where to go. Why don't you stop with me? I was all alone, and....'
'Why, Zoe, tired already! Come along quick to the hotel,' says John, 'or you won't get any rest before dinner.'