Was it accident that brought Clarice Severn into the broad chestnut glade that led to the house? Other eyes might turn shyly from his; hers grew brighter and happier, her whole face changed as she bent forward quickly to greet him.
“I was just wondering whether we should see you to-day or not, Sir Ronald,” she said.
“It would be a dark, dreary day that would not bring me to Leeholme,” he said; and, again, in her foolish hope and foolish love, she chose to think the words referred to herself.
“Clarice,” he said, his deep voice broken with emotion, “you know what brings me here day after day.”
Her heart beat so quickly she could hardly reply. Believe me, nothing misled her but her own vanity and her own love.
“I know,” she said, faintly.
“I shall not bear my suspense much longer,” he continued; “I am going to try my fate. I am sure you wish me godspeed.”
“He is going to ask me to be his wife,” she said to herself; but even then, in the delirium of happiness which that thought gave her, she wondered why he could not ask her there and then.
“Thank you, Clarice; the good wishes of a pure-hearted woman always seem to me like prayers.” Then he passed on, and was soon out of sight.
Sir Ronald rode home again; he looked at the familiar trees as he passed; he smiled at the nodding branches and the fluttering leaves.