About one o’clock the Duke descended into empty chambers. Not a soul was to be seen. The birds had flown. He determined to go to the Archery Ground. He opened the door of the music-room.
He found Miss Dacre alone at a table, writing. She looked up, and his heart yielded as her eye met his.
‘You do not join the nymphs?’ asked the Duke.
‘I have lent my bow,’ she said, ‘to an able substitute.’
She resumed her task, which he perceived was copying music. He advanced, he seated himself at the table, and began playing with a pen. He gazed upon her, his soul thrilled with unwonted sensations, his frame shook with emotions which, for a moment, deprived him even of speech. At length he spoke in a low and tremulous tone:—
‘I fear I am disturbing you, Miss Dacre?’
‘By no means,’ she said, with a courteous air; and then, remembering she was a hostess, ‘Is there anything that you require?’
‘Much; more than I can hope. O Miss Dacre! suffer me to tell you how much I admire, how much I love you!’
She started, she stared at him with distended eyes, and her small mouth was open like a ring.
‘My Lord!’