Gabrielle tried to smile, and to master the uneasiness which possessed her, as she replied:
"From the murmur of the Nixies' Well. It has such a weird, ghostly sound at this noontide hour."
"And yet you have chosen this spot as your favourite haunt?"
"Well, the fountain has now lived its life. Tomorrow, perhaps, by your command, the garden will have been turned into a wilderness, a chaos of stones and earth, and ..."
"Little do I care whether my orders distress other people or not?" completed Raven, as she paused. "It may be so--but, Gabrielle, are you really so fond of this spring? Would it positively distress you to see it stopped?"
"Yes," said Gabrielle, in a low voice, looking up at him. Her lips uttered no word of entreaty; but her eyes besought him earnestly, pleading for the doomed fountain.
Raven was silent. For some minutes he stood by her without speaking. Then he began again:
"I frightened you just now with my harsh views of life, but no one says you must share them. I forgot for a moment that youth has a right to dream, and that it would be cruel to rob you of the privilege. Keep your faith still in the golden far-off future, in the promise of the blue mountains. You may yet put gentle confidence in the world and in mankind; it is little likely you will ever incur their hostility and hatred."
His voice was veiled and wonderfully soft, and all austerity had vanished from his look, as it rested half sadly on the young girl's countenance; but Arno Raven was not one to be long influenced by such emotions; and, indeed, it seemed that no chance of yielding to them was to be afforded him, for at this moment steps were heard approaching, and, as they turned, the lodge-keeper, accompanied by an elderly man--a mechanic, apparently--entered the garden. They stopped on perceiving the Governor, and uncovered respectfully.
Raven's mildness had already vanished. He had quickly shaken off the unwonted mood.