Ned Hayward was surprised and pleased; for there was no attempt to conceal that his staying or going was a matter of interest to her. He answered, however, gravely, even sadly,
"I fear I must."
"But you have forgotten your promised visit to us at Hinton," said Mary, reproachfully, and deadly pale; "you promised to come, you know; I have counted upon that visit as affording an opportunity of settling how and where, when I come of age, which will now be in a few months, the money you so generously lent me, can be repaid.--Indeed," she added, earnestly, "you must come there for a few days, even if you do not stay here."
There was a tenderness, a tremulous softness in her tone, a slight yet sufficiently marked agitation in her manner, which made Ned Hayward's heart beat.
"Can I be beloved?" he asked himself. "Can she return the feelings she has inspired? I will soon know!--My dear Miss Clifford," he replied, "I fear that visit would prove more dangerous to me than this has been; and, therefore, however unwillingly--however great would have been the delight, I must decline it."
Mary Clifford looked down without uttering a word; but her cheek remained pale, her lip quivered as if she would fain have given voice to some reply; and though her arm was not in his, he could feel that she trembled. Ned Hayward's heart beat too; but there was, as we have often seen before, a frankness, a straightforward simplicity in his habitual course of action, which overleaped many a difficulty that would have baffled other men.
"Let me explain," he said, but Mary made a slight motion with her hand, saying,
"Oh, no, no!" in a faint tone, and then she repeated the word "dangerous!"
"Yes," he said, "more dangerous, dear Miss Clifford! Can you not conceive how and why?--In a word, then, I cannot and must not stay with you longer. I must by as speedy a return as possible to other occupations, make an effort to forget that I have ever seen one, whom I fear I have already known too long for the peace of my whole life."
He paused for a moment with a sigh, raised his head high the next instant, and then added, "I have but one favour to ask you, which is this--not to let what I have just said make any difference in your demeanor towards me, during the short period of my stay. I had no intention of troubling your ear with such things at all; but your own question brought forth what I would willingly have concealed--perhaps in this I have been wrong; but believe me, I am very well aware that difference of fortune has placed a barrier between us which cannot be overleaped. This is the only favour, then, dear lady--do not alter towards me--let me see you ever the same as I have yet beheld you; and when I go away for ever, let me carry with me the remembrance of Mary Clifford as a picture of all that deserves love and admiration upon earth.--Do not, do not change, notwithstanding my rash confessions."