“After our talk on the terrace?”
“And even before that. When Julia was singing for you,—clearly for you, there was no disguise in the matter,—and I whispered you, 'What courage you have!' you said, 'I have been so often under fire'—from that instant I knew you.”
“Knew me—how far?”
“Enough to know that it was not to such captivations you would yield,—that you had seen a great deal of that sort of thing.”
“Oh, have I not!”
“Perhaps not always unscathed,” said she, with a sly glance.
“I will scarcely go that far,” replied he, with the air of a man on the best possible terms with himself. “They say he is the best rider who has had the most falls. At least, it may be said that he who has met no disasters has encountered few perils.”
“Now, my Lord, you can see the cottage completely. Is it not very pretty, and very picturesque, and is there not something very interesting—touching almost, in the thought of beauty and captivation—dwelling in this un-travelled wilderness?”
He almost gave a little shudder, as his eye followed the line of the rugged mountain, till it blended with the bleak and shingly shore on which the waves were now washing in measured plash,—the one sound in the universal silence around.
“Nothing but being desperately in love could make this solitude endurable,” said he at last.