Glancing back into the kitchen, she cried fearfully, as a light figure stole into her view, ‘What’s that!’
‘Hush!’ said Marion in an agitated whisper. ‘You have always loved me, have you not!’
‘Loved you, child! You may be sure I have.’
‘I am sure. And I may trust you, may I not? There is no one else just now, in whom I can trust.’
‘Yes,’ said Clemency, with all her heart.
‘There is some one out there,’ pointing to the door, ‘whom I must see, and speak with, to-night. Michael Warden, for God’s sake retire! Not now!’
Clemency started with surprise and trouble as, following the direction of the speaker’s eyes, she saw a dark figure standing in the doorway.
‘In another moment you may be discovered,’ said Marion. ‘Not now! Wait, if you can, in some concealment. I will come presently.’
He waved his hand to her, and was gone. ‘Don’t go to bed. Wait here for me!’ said Marion, hurriedly. ‘I have been seeking to speak to you for an hour past. Oh, be true to me!’
Eagerly seizing her bewildered hand, and pressing it with both her own to her breast—an action more expressive, in its passion of entreaty, than the most eloquent appeal in words,—Marion withdrew; as the light of the returning lantern flashed into the room.