As he spoke the girl’s eyes flashed, and a slight colour burned for a moment in her pale cheeks.
“How dare you say such a thing to me!” was her indignant rejoinder; “have I ever attempted to deceive you?—you know I have not; but let it pass. You ask me what advice I gave him: I told him to persevere, reminded him that a faint heart never won a fair lady, which I believe he took to be an entirely original remark on my part, and gently insinuated that no girl in her senses could refuse him.”
Arthur fixed his piercing glance upon her, as he replied—
“And why did you say this? Do you believe, indeed, that Alice will eventually be prevailed upon to marry him?—or did you say it to deceive him for a purpose of your own?”
“I gave him good sound advice,” was the answer; “I do not believe Alice will marry him; but that is no reason why he should not use his best endeavours to obtain what he wishes, or fancies he wishes. I shall advise him to prosecute his suit, and at the right moment to offer to her in person.”
“In order that she may irritate him, and offend my father, by a refusal. Kate, you are playing some deep game in all this, and one of which you know I should disapprove, or else you would not so studiously conceal it from me,” returned Hazlehurst gloomily.
There was a moment’s pause ere the young lady replied—
“Let events unravel themselves, my worthy cousin; the result will appear all in good time.”
They walked on in silence, till a turn in the path brought them before a smooth moss-grown bank, on which the gnarled roots of an old pollard-oak formed a natural rustic seat.
“Let us rest here, and enjoy the sunshine while we may; there is not too much of it in the world,” observed Kate, in a gentler tone than she had hitherto used. There was a touch of sadness in her voice which Arthur could not hear unmoved, and merely waiting till she had seated herself, he placed himself on a root of the tree at her feet. For some minutes neither of them spoke, till as it were unconsciously, Kate allowed her hand to rest on his head, while her fingers played with a lock of his rich chesnut hair. As he felt her soft touch upon his brow, he raised his eyes to her countenance—the stern, hard expression had vanished, and in its place appeared that look which, once seen, the recollection dies only with memory itself—the fond, wistful, tender gaze a loving woman turns on him she loves. For a minute he remained silent and motionless, subdued by the power of her rare beauty; then springing to his feet, he exclaimed—