Restless with love's fever, Gerald, heedless of the rain--for what is so slight a thing to one who loves as he did?--was hovering about the house in which his darling lived. He looked up at the windows, and choosing one as the window of Emilia's room, gazed at it with fervor, making of it a very heaven--a heaven to be glorified by her presence. "To-morrow," he mused, as he paced slowly up and down on the opposite side, "I will ask her plainly to be my wife. She is unhappy--she told me so--and it must be because she is living with such a wicked woman. Yes, I will ask her to-morrow. She loves me, I am sure of it. It is only that she is poor and I am rich. What of that? It will make it all the better for us--a thousand times better than if she were rich and I were poor. Then we might never come together. Dear Emilia, sweet Emilia, the sweetest, dearest, most beautiful on earth! I love her, I love her, I love her!"
Thus ecstatically musing, he saw the street-door suddenly opened and as suddenly and violently shut, and a figure thrust forth, as if in anger. He had no idea that it was Emilia; the thought was too barbarous to be entertained; but out of curiosity he crossed the road and went up to it.
"Good God!" he cried; "Emilia!" and caught her up in his arms.
"Oh, Gerald, Gerald!" she sobbed, and lay there, helpless and almost heartbroken, and yet with a sweet sense of comfort stealing upon her great grief.
What mattered rain and darkness? She had called him Gerald, and he knew for a surety that he was loved. He kissed her, and she did not resist, but lay, sobbing more quietly now, within the sanctuary of his loving arms.
Ecstasy at being permitted to embrace her enthralled him for a time, but presently he begged her to explain the meaning of her being thrust at such an hour from Mrs. Seaton's house. Before she could render it the street-door was opened quietly and slowly, and a woman's face peered out--Mrs. Seaton's.
"I thought as much," cried the stony-hearted woman, with a laugh. "A pretty pair!" and then the door was closed again, and only the sound of the falling rain was heard.
With a feeling of burning indignation Gerald looked down upon the white face of his dear girl. Her eyes were closed; her arms hung loose at her side; she had fainted.
He was thankful that the street was deserted and that there were no witnesses near, for he had sense enough to know that Emilia's reputation was at stake.
"You fiend," he muttered, with a dark glance at Mrs. Seaton's house. "You abominable fiend!" And then he called softly, "Emilia, Emilia! Look up, my darling. We are safe now, and we will never part."