"Nonsense!" tucking her hand genially beneath his arm; "I only said that out of vexation. Think as little about it as I do. I know for a fact you are not half a bad boy. Come now with me to The Cottage, that I may tell this extraordinary, this delightful story to Cecilia."
"Is Cecilia Miss Duncan?"
"No, Mrs. Arlington. Archie,"—seriously,—"you are quite, utterly sure you know all about it?"
"Do you imagine I dreamed it? Of course I am sure. But if you think I am going down there to endure hysterics, and be made damp with tears, you are much mistaken. I won't go, Lilian; you needn't think it; I—I should be afraid."
"Console yourself; I shan't require your assistance," calmly. "I only want you to stay outside while I break the good news to her, lest she should wish to ask you a question. I only hope, Archie, you are telling me the exact truth,"—severely,—"that you are not drawing on your imagination, and that it was no other man of the same name you saw lying dead?"
"Perhaps it was," replies he, huffily, turning away as they reach the wicket gate.
"Do not stir from where you are now," says she, imperiously: "I may want you at any moment."
So Archibald, who does not dare disobey her commands, strays idly up and down outside the hedge, awaiting his summons. It is rather long in coming, so that his small stock of patience is nearly exhausted when he receives a message begging him to come in-doors.
As he enters the drawing-room, however, he is so struck with compassion at the sight of Cecilia's large, half-frightened eyes turned upon him that he loses all his ill humor and grows full of sympathy. She is very unlike the happy Cecilia of a month ago, still more unlike the calm, dignified Cecilia who first came to Chetwoode. She is pale as the early blossoms that lie here and there in soft wanton luxuriance upon her tables; her whole face is eager and expectant. She is trembling perceptibly from head to foot.
"What is it you would tell me, sir?" she asks, with deep entreaty. It is as though she longs yet fears to believe.