Cherry gave the note to Lance to read, expecting to hear no more of it; but he brought it out in the late evening as she was settling some Pursuivant business with him, in preparation for his departure by the early train on the Monday. 'Do you want this?' he asked.
'You may keep it if you like.'
He sighed, holding it close. 'I say—does he know—the Squire?'
'Of her coming over? No; I don't think any one saw her.'
'He ought. I had begun to think so before, but this note convinces me on whose account she came.'
'I don't imagine she knew she came on any one's account in particular.'
'All the nicer of her, but so much the worse for me. Look here, Cherry. Did you know I had been at Stoneborough on Monday? Well, she showed plain enough how it was. Every hope seemed gone—crushed—done for. I was so dazed, that if you said it was I who upset the boat, I shouldn't wonder. I had lived upon the thought ever since Christmas. O Cherry, I do love her so!' cried the poor lad, quite beyond his usual reserved self-control.
'Yes; she is very bright and sweet,' said Cherry, by way of sympathy.
'The Daisy! the light of every place she goes to!' he went on. 'How different she made it all last winter! and I was fool enough to think—Well, it is no good to talk of Monday morning, but it was just falling from Paradise to the abyss; and all the night after I was savage with them all for having dragged me back—nearly mad more than once, I believe. Then in the morning, when I had just stumbled out into church, not able to put two thoughts together, but with only sense enough to know that if I laid my love and my life on the Altar as best I could, God would take them and make the right thing of them somehow—I looked up, and saw her in the morning sunshine clinging to me—the dear thing—then I did believe God had given her to me.'
'Dear Lance! still—'