They had loitered into the seclusion of a forest glade, that might have been a hundred miles from London. The little boy had vanished with his hoop, the nursery-maids and their charges were pervading the broad gravel walks and more frequented lawns of this sylvan paradise; not a soul was to be seen threading the stems of the tall trees but themselves, and an enthusiastic thrush straining its throat in their ears, seemed to ensure them from all observation less tolerant than its own.
"Now or never!" thought Satanella. "It must be done; and it's no use thinking about it!"
Turning round on her companion, she crossed her slender hands over his arm, looked caressingly in his face and murmured—
"General, will you do me a favour?"
Pages could not have conveyed the gratification expressed by his monosyllable, "Try!"
She looked about, as if searching for some means of escape, then said hurriedly—
"I am in a difficulty. I want money. Will you help me?"
Watching his face, she saw it turn very grave. The most devoted of lovers, even while rejoicing because of the confidence reposed in him, cannot but feel that such a question must be approached with caution—that to answer it satisfactorily will require prudence, fore-thought, and self-sacrifice. To do the General justice, which Satanella at the moment did not, his circumspection was far removed from hesitation; he had no more idea of refusing, than the gallant horse who shortens his stride, and draws himself together, for a larger fence than common, that he may collect his energies, and cover it without a mistake.
For one delightful moment Miss Douglas felt a weight lifted from her heart, and was already beginning to unsay her words as gracefully as she might when he stopped her, with a firm, deliberate acquiescence.
"Of course I will! And you ought to know by this time nothing can make me so happy as to be of use to you in any way. Forgive me, Miss Douglas—business is business—how much?"