He dropped, trembling, flushing and paling, into the indicated seat.
"Now tell me what there was in my harmless letter to disturb you," she murmured, passing her soft fingers over his forehead and running them through the dark curls of his hair.
"Nothing that was meant to disturb me, I know. It was all kindness. You could not write to me, or to any one, otherwise than kindly," faltered the lover.
"Well, then?" inquired Mary Grey, in a pretty, reproachful tone.
"But I felt it was cold—cold!" sighed the young man.
"Why, you dearest of dears, one must be discreet in writing letters! Suppose my letter had expressed all my feelings toward you, and then had fallen into the hands of any one else? Such mistakes are made in the mails sometimes. How would you have liked it?" she inquired, patting his cheeks.
"I should have been wild. But it would only have been at the loss of your letter. As for me, Heaven knows, I should not mind if all the world knew how much I adore you. On the contrary, I should glory in it," added the lover.
"But a lady feels differently. She only lets her lover know how well she loves him; and not always does she even let him know," softly murmured the beautiful temptress, as she lightly caressed his raven curls. "And now tell me the news, dear Craven. How are all our friends at Blue Cliffs?" she archly inquired.
"I only want to tell you how much I adore you," whispered the lover, who was beginning to recover his composure.
"That would be a vain repetition, darling, especially as I know it all quite well," murmured Mary Grey, with a smile, and still passing her hand with mesmeric gentleness over his hair.