“Oh, oh! So she consented once! Then she will do so again.”
“Listen! Camilla broke it off because your mother could not resign her position to her.”
He gave a whistle of dismay, then recovering himself with a laugh, said, “Fourth sons don’t have such expectations founded on them. Don’t fear, dearest; that can’t be all the story, though no doubt it was part of it. My mother would rather go into a hermitage than stand in the way of Raymond’s happiness. Some one must have made mischief.”
“It was not all,” said the girl; “it was Lord Tyrrell’s coming in the way. Yes, my father told me so; he held it up to me as an example of what one ought to do for one’s family.”
“Then she was coerced?”
“I don’t know; but such a marriage for me, with some one who would redeem the property, is their scheme for me. Even if your mother and brother could tolerate the thought of one of us, my poor dear father will never dare to consent as long as she is with him.”
“Nay, Lenore; have I not often heard her say she prefers happiness to ambition? Whatever she may have done, she has come to think differently. She has well-nigh told me so.”
“Yes, at Rockpier,” sighed Eleonora. “Hark!” The sound of the ponies’ bells and hoofs was heard; Lenore put her hand on his arm, and drew him aside on the grass, behind a clump of trees, hushing him by a silent pressure as he tried to remonstrate. He clasped her hand, and felt her trembling till the tinkling and tramp were gone by.
“You frightened darling!” were his first words, when she let him speak. “Who would have thought you would be so shy? But we’ll have it out, and—”
“It is not that,” interrupted Lenore, “not maidenly shyness. That’s for girls who are happy and secure. No; but I don’t want to have it all overthrown at once—the first sweetness—”