"No, dear child, no," replied the elder lady, "I must finish this cat's head. I never saw such a troublesome puss in my life;" and she laughed merrily. "I cannot get her whiskers in, all I can do. When I make them black, they look like a spot of ink, and when I make them white, they look like a drop of cream. But go, my children, go. The evening is beautiful; and sunsets and sunrises, and such sort of things, do young people good. Forget not to tell your beads, Iola, as he goes down; for no one can ever tell what his rising may look upon."
Without any other covering of the head than that which they wore in the house, the two girls went forth with Chartley, Sir William starting up and following. It need not be asked how the party divided itself. Ah, it is a pleasant number, four. It does not admit of much variety; but, on most occasions, it is perfect in itself. Happy Iola, how gaily she walked on by Chartley's side, round those same walls which she had trod some evenings before, with a pale cheek and anxious eye, and a heart well nigh despairing. Now all the scene was bright and beautiful, on the one side spreading out the purple glow of evening, on the other, the pale primrose of the west growing fainter at the approach of night, and the golden hills all round crowning themselves with the beams of the departing sun. As if to leave them free room to say all that might be sweet, yet dangerous, to say, Sir William Arden and Constance lingered a good way behind, paused often, once or twice sat down, till Iola and Chartley, circling all round the walls, came back to them again.
What was Sir William Arden doing? I verily believe he was making love in his own peculiar way; for, every now and then, in the midst of smiles at some odd frank speech, a faint blush fluttered over Constance's fair cheek, as if she felt that, in his warmer words, there was an allusion to herself.
Chartley and Iola passed them by, each party so full of their own thoughts as not to notice the other.
"It was indeed," said Chartley, "a night ever to be remembered--at least by me--a night full of sensations new, and deep, and thrilling; sensations known but once in a whole lifetime. Nor do I think that you will ever forget it. Did I not tell you, that it was one of those points of time which raise their heads above the waste of the past, and are seen like a mountain peak, till man is at the end of his journey?"
"It cannot be forgot, indeed," replied Iola, and cast her eyes down thoughtfully.
"Strange words you spoke that night," continued Chartley; "words that to me were then like the mysterious figures upon Egyptian stones, of which I could interpret nothing. Now, alas, I have got the key."
"What words?" demanded Iola. "What words of mine can even from memory produce so sad a tone?" and she looked up in his face, with the feeling of her heart but too plainly written in her eyes.
"You spoke," replied Chartley, "words that have rung in my ear ever since, 'Happy are those who have no ties to bind them!' I now knew of what ties you spoke--" and he added, almost vehemently, "Oh that I could rend them, and scatter them to the winds."
"Chartley!" said Iola, pausing for an instant, and then immediately resuming her walk.