CHAPTER XI.
"My genius whispers me Go on and win her,—for there's nought That's more unsteadfast than a woman's thought." Cooke.
"There lies the sore point, which will brook no handling."
Sir Walter Scott.
John and Eleanor, followed by Mrs. Rainsfield and Tom, commenced their gathering of the forest's blossoms, and sauntered on without any seeming interest in their occupation; for their thoughts were otherwise centred. Eleanor would walk by the side of her companion, supporting her part for some minutes at a stretch, in a spirited and lively conversation; ever and anon directing her lovely eyes to the features of John; while he, in ecstasies with the warmth of her manner, returned the glance with redoubled tenderness; and with the force of his ardent and inspiring conversation communicated the blush of pleasure to her cheek.
Thus they walked on for some time quite absorbed in themselves, until they found they had got considerably in advance of their companions; so much so, that they could not even see them. Upon this discovery, John suggested that their friends might have slightly deviated from the track; allured, perhaps, into the bush by something that might have attracted their attention, and were possibly not far off. He therefore proposed that Eleanor and himself should sit down and wait until they overtook them; but to this his companion was unwilling to agree. He however combatted her opinion that they had returned, and that it would be better for herself and him to retrace their steps also, by saying that Mrs. Rainsfield would never turn back without first giving them intimation; and that by retracing their steps then, they would possibly miss, and give one another a good deal of trouble and uneasiness, in a mutual search. Whether this advice was agreeable or not to Eleanor, we cannot say, but she silently complied; and sat down by his side, as he threw himself on the grass.
John, at this moment, became absorbed with thoughts that entirely subverted his former cheerfulness. The circumstances of his situation presented themselves to his mind's eye in full force; and suggested, as their solitude had very opportunely afforded him the means of declaring to Eleanor the feelings uppermost in his thoughts, and which he had so long burned to disclose, that he should not allow it to slip. But his heart failed within him, as he was on the point of giving utterance to his love; and though it spoke volumes, his tongue failed to articulate a sound. Thus they sat for some minutes, when Eleanor broke the silence by remarking, "What can have become of those truants?" and recieving no reply from her companion, directed an enquiring gaze to his face.
In that countenance, where she used to witness animation and spirit, she now only detected profound abstraction, and a vision directed fixedly into space. She contemplated the features for some few moments; and then, while she laid her hand upon John's shoulder, addressed him with the enquiry, "May I participate in the pleasure of your thoughts, Mr. Ferguson? they must be deeply interesting, for they seem to have engrossed your entire attention."
John started at the sound of Eleanor's voice, and awaking from his reverie, while he siezed in his fevered grasp the hand of his companion, replied: "Indeed you may, my dear Eleanor (pardon my familiarity); your sweet voice has broken the spell; and if you experience pleasure from a recital of my thoughts, I shall indeed be the happiest mortal on earth. When I say I love you, Eleanor, I convey but a shadow of what I inwardly feel; it has long been my one consuming fire; you, and you alone, are the object of my warmest and tenderest affections. Your kind and sweet excellence first won my regard, and I early learnt to cherish your image as my soul's talisman and idol; but ere I had an opportunity of breathing in your ear the nature of the fire that consumed me, my hopes were blighted. I learnt from your cousin the existence of an engagement that has stamped my spirit with despair; and though I have striven to forget you, save as a dear friend, and have almost driven myself frantic in the struggle, yet it is without success. At a time, when I had almost banished from my memory the existence of my passion, some passing object would reflect your image in the mirror of my mind, and would render me almost demented with the thought that your charms were destined to bless some other one. Oh, say my angel! can that be? Is it possible your troth is plighted to another? Pray, speak; my destiny hangs upon your answer. Say but that you bid me hope; that you will not reject me; anything rather than discard or banish me from your presence, without the chance of catching one ray of the sunshine of your smile."