“Nor any appearance of footsteps?”
“Yes, I did, or fancied I did, detect such before the window; but why should this alarm you, or turn your mind from what we spoke of? Let me once more—”
“Not now—not now, I beg of you; a secret misgiving is over me, and I am not generally a coward; but I have not the collectedness to speak to you as I ought. I would not wish to be unkind, nor would I yet deceive you. This cannot be.”
“Cannot be, Mary?”
“Do not ask me more now. You are too generous to give pain: spare me, then, the suffering of inflicting it on you. I will tell you my reasons, you shall own them to be sufficient.”
“When are we to meet again?” said Roland, as he moved slowly towards the door.
“There it is again!” cried she, in a voice of actual terror; and Cashel opened the window and sprang out; but even the slight delay in unfastening the sash prevented his overtaking the intruder, whoever he might be, while, in the abundance of evergreens about, search was certain to prove fruitless.
“Good-bye,” said she, endeavoring to smile; “you are too proud and high of spirit, if I read you aright, to return to a theme like this.”
“I am humble enough to sue it out,—a very suppliant,” said he, passionately.
“I thought otherwise of you,” said she, affecting a look of disappointment.