“What a good fortune it was that brought you to my aid to-night,” said she; “I had not dared to have come this long road alone.”
“What a good fortune mine to have even so humble a service to render you! Jack used to talk to me of you for hours long. Nights just like this have we passed together; he telling me about your habits and your ways, so that this very incident seems to fit into the story of your life as an every-day occurrence. I know,” continued he, as she seemed to listen attentively, “how you used to ride over the mountains at home, visiting wild and out-of-the-way spots; how you joined him in his long fishing excursions, exploring the deep mountain gorges while he lingered by the riverside. The very names you gave these desolate places—taken from old books of travel—showed me how a spirit of enterprise was in your heart.”
“Were they not happy days!” murmured she, half to herself.
“They must have been,” said he, ardently; “to hear of them has charmed the weariest watches of the night, and made me long to know you.”
“Yes; but I am not what I was,” said she, hastily. “Out of that dreamy, strange existence I have awakened to a world full of its own stern realities. That pleasant indolence has ill prepared me for the road I must travel; and it was selfish too! The vulgarest cares of every-day life are higher aims than all the mere soarings of imagination, and of this truth I am only now becoming aware.”
“But it was for never neglecting those very duties Jack used to praise you; he said that none save himself knew you as other than the careful mistress of a household.”
“Poor fellow! ours was an humble retinue, and needed little guidance.”
“I see,” said Conway, “you are too proud to accept of such esteem as mine; but yet you can't prevent me offering it.”
“Have I not told you how I prize your kindness?” said she, gently.
“Will you let me think so?” cried Conway, pressing her arm closely; and again they were silent Who knows with what thoughts?