"Oh, Richard," she answered, with a mournful shake of the head, "I would fain give time for both you and myself to think deliberately. I may be wrong in the view I take at present, and I am certain you would be wrong if you were to decide now. Well, well, within three months, I will write to you the whole, and enclose you the old letter which I received two nights ago. After you know all, you shall wait a fortnight, a full fortnight, before you decide, and then your decision shall be final. I will say not one word against it; you shall command, and I will obey."
"My commands shall not be very hard, Bessy," I answered; "for though you think so very ill of mankind, if I have the slightest knowledge of my own spirit, I would rather insure your happiness than mine. If we must live as brother and sister, without a dearer tie, so be it."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Richard," she answered; "those words relieve my mind of a great weight. I see you will have consideration for me."
"I will, indeed," I replied. "But now tell me, beloved, how are we to pass the intermediate time?"
"I have determined," she said, "to go over to my uncle Henry's, and to remain there with him. I have already told my maid to have everything in readiness, and have written for my uncle to come for me to-morrow." She paused for a moment, and then added,--"But you will let me see you from time to time, will you not, Richard? There can be no harm in that. We are not parted by inclination, but by fate."
"Assuredly, I will come to see you often," I answered; "for till this is decided, you are still my own Bessy; and although I thought of returning speedily to England, I will not quit this land till our fate is fixed." She drew a deep sigh, as if there was some relief in the words I spoke, and then she said, suddenly,--
"Now let us go back, Richard. It is growing quite dark, and they will send somebody to see after us." I drew her arm through mine, and we walked slowly homeward, nearly in silence. We both thought that it was the last solitary walk we should take together for many a day, and the present had been a very eventful one. But, as usual with human calculations, our conclusions were all wrong. We had another walk to take ere long, and that more eventful still.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
Bessy seated herself in the hall before entering the drawing-room, where we heard many voices and gay laughter going on.
"Go in, Richard, go in," she said, giving me her hand; "let me recover myself a little. I shall be better soon. The worst is over; I shall join you presently." I pressed my lips upon her hand, and went into the drawing-room. Though still anxious--though still grieved--I was not near so much agitated as she was. As she had said, the worst was over, and ever buoyant hope had risen up again speedily in my heart. She had promised to tell me all within the next three months; and I could not, I would not, believe that any barrier really existed between herself and me, which a little argument, a little persuasion, would not overcome. Woman's mind, I thought, more timid, more delicate than man's, magnified difficulties and dangers, and sometimes even created them where they did not exist.