Chapter Sixty Six.
Ralph beginneth a conversation totally beyond his comprehension, and yet comprehendeth more than the conversation is meant to convey—He feeleth some inclination towards love-making, but checketh himself valiantly.
“My own brave Ralph,” said she, extending to me both her hands.
“Your schoolboy lover,” said I: an immense weight of anxiety removed from my mind, as I kissed her jewelled fingers.
“Hush, Ralph! such words are vanities—but ask me not why? Oh, my dear boy, make the most of this visit—”
“I will, I will—how beautiful you are! how very, very beautiful!”
“Am I?—I rejoice to hear you say so! Ralph, speak to me as my own devoted, my more than loved friend—by all the affection that I have lavished on you, speak to me truly; do you, dearest Ralph, see no alteration in me?”
“A little,” said I, smiling triumphantly, “a very little, for there was never room for much—you are a little more beautiful than when I last beheld you.”
“Thank you—you have given me more happiness by the fervent honesty of that speech than I have experienced for days and weeks, nay, months before. Stand from me, and let me look at you—you, Ralph, are also much, very much improved—perhaps there is a little too much cast of thought upon your brow—that thought is a sad wrinkle maker—but, Ralph, you are not well dressed. But come and sit by me now, there, on that low footstool. I always loved to play thus with your pretty curls—I wish that they were a shade darker; as you have grown so manly, it would have been as well. Truly, as I look into the ingenuous brightness of your countenance, the joys of past happy hours seem to wing themselves back, and whisper to me that word so little understood—Happiness. But, Ralph, we will be alone together for this day at least—you shall dine with me here—we will have no interruption—you shall tell me all your deeds of arms—and, you naughty boy, of love also. Reach that bell, and ring it—but gently.”
I obeyed, and the same handsome young lady, whom I had before seen, answered the silver summons. She glided in, and stooped over to Mrs Causand, as she lay on the couch, and their short conference was in whispers. As she retired, I was rather puzzled by the deep sorrow on her countenance, and the unfeigned look of pity with which she regarded her mistress or her friend. When we were again alone, I resumed my low seat, and was growing rather passionate over one of her beautiful hands, when, looking down, apparently much pleased with these silly endearments, she said, “Yes, Ralph, make the most of it; hand and heart, all, all are yours, for the little space that they will be mine.”