"Well, that concerns myself alone, I think, unless--unless it be that you feel anxiety on my account."
She dared not reply in words; but the answer might be read in her eyes, which met his with an imploring, beseeching look. The Baron bent down to her, and there was a thrill of breathless expectation in his voice as he repeated:
"Speak, Gabrielle; are you anxious about me?"
"Yes," came trembling from her lips. It was but a single word, yet it wrought a marvellous effect.
Again Gabrielle saw his whole face kindle as with a blaze of light, met the ardent gaze which had struck her dumb once before; and the flame of that mighty up-springing passion melted the panoply of ice in which the proud man had wrapped himself. One moment sufficed to destroy the barriers which the self-control of weeks had laboriously built up. The dream was not over. The sudden fire in his eyes flashed out his secret.
Close to them the river ran with a loud and angry murmur, while out yonder in the autumnal forests the wind rustled and blew with sharper, stronger blasts. The wall of cloud, which rose more and more threateningly in the west, parted, and once again the red sun shone out clear and full. For a few seconds, mountains, woods, and stream appeared bathed in a purple light; a transfiguring glory streamed over the earth, and the whole broad valley glowed in supernatural splendour. For a few seconds only--then the great disc sank out of sight, the glory died away, and there remained nothing but the darkening autumn landscape with, overhead, the heavy masses of storm-cloud, and far away in the distant horizon a lingering crimson flush. A half-melancholy, half-weird aspect came over the scene, and all Nature thrilled with a presentiment of winter and of death.
"During the last few weeks, you too have thought me a tyrant, no doubt," said Raven, in a low voice, carefully subdued, though every word vibrated with his inward agitation. "Perhaps one day you will thank me for guarding you from the fault of over-precipitation. You were ignorant of your own heart and feelings, and yet you wished to bind yourself for life. Winterfeld was the first man who approached you after you ceased to be a child, the first who ventured to speak to you words of love, and you shut your eyes and dreamed that you too loved, conjuring up the phantom of that which never existed. It was a childish illusion--nothing more."
"No, no," said Gabrielle, anxiously disclaiming the charge, and attempting to free her hand--attempting in vain, for the Baron held it as in a vice, as he answered:
"You feel the truth of what I say. Do not strive against it. A promise may be recalled, an engagement cancelled by mutual consent----"
"Never!" exclaimed the girl, passionately. "I love George, him alone, and no one else. I mean to be his wife."