CHAPTER XXXVI
BY MOONLIGHT
As it was a lovely evening, many other couples were on the links or the shore, lured abroad by the beauty of the scene, the clear radiance of the northern sky, and the brilliance of a harvest moon. A soft, almost languorous little breeze, stirred the long coarse grass among the dunes—perhaps it had stolen across the bay from those dark mountains of Rossshire, carrying tender messages from the purple heather? To-night, the great burners in the lighthouse had a sinecure, for it was as bright as day. From a villa overlooking the sea, a violin and piano flooded the air with sounds that seemed to evoke the very spirit of romance—a passionate triumph of the greatest gift in life.
As Aurea and her companion descended to the shore, they had scarcely exchanged a word beyond Wynyard’s “Mind that stone,” and “Let us get away from the crowd, right down to the sea.”
Aurea felt inwardly agitated, but determined to do her utmost to exercise self-control. She knew instinctively that the most critical hour in her life was about to strike. In a somewhat unsteady voice she broke the silence—a woman sometimes does speak first.
“You are the very last person in the world I expected to see.”
He turned and faced her.
“Why?”
“For several reasons.”
“Can you guess the reason why I came up to Lossiemouth, and why I have asked you to come out with me? I am a free man since yesterday; the yoke is off, the gag is out of my mouth, and I want to repeat what I told you on Yampton Hill—that I love you.”
There was a long pause, broken by the soft whispering of the ebbing waves.