Cecil sang, but soon left off; and pleading "heartburn," caught at the advice of Tom Wincot, who assured him that a stwong cigar was the best wemedy for it, and strolled out into the grounds to smoke.
CHAPTER XV.
THE LOVERS MEET.
And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise,
I love you: start not, speak not, answer not.
I love you......
HEYWOOD.—A Woman killed with Kindness.
It was a lovely night. The full harvest moon shed a soft brilliance over the far-stretching meadow-lands; the sky was dotted with small patches of light fleecy cloud, and a few dim stars. All was hushed in that repose which lends a solemn grandeur to a night-scene, when the sky, the stars, the silence—things suggestive of infinity—become the objects of contemplation.
Cecil was not one to remain indifferent to such a scene: his painter's eye and poet's heart were equally open to its mild splendour. The tall trees standing dark against the sky, and the dim outline of the woody heights around, no more escaped his notice, than the picturesquely grouped cattle, one of which, a dun cow, with large white face and chest, stood motionless amidst her recumbent companions.
Although he could not resist the first burst of admiration, Cecil was in no mood to luxuriate in the poetry of such a scene, as he would have done at any other time; but, striking into the thick and shadowy shrubbery, delicately chequered with interspaces of moonlight, he began to consider the object of this nocturnal ramble.
It would be difficult to explain the motive which impelled him to make this assignation. It was one of the sudden inspirations of passion, which defeat whole months of calculated prudence. Nothing could have been more opposed to his calculations than anything like an express declaration, until he had ascertained the truth of what Captain Heath had asserted. And although he rose from the table with the resolution to be on his guard, and to watch closely the state of affairs, his first act, as we have seen, was one of consummate imprudence—one which inextricably entangled him in the very net from which he was anxious to keep away. Now, upon Captain Heath's view of his character, this was little less than madness—in short, it was unintelligible. But it is intelligible enough upon a more comprehensive view of human character; as every one will acknowledge who has ever stood beside the girl he loves, in a room full of people—the very restraint of the place sharpens desire, and makes the timid bold. Hence one reason why so many more declarations are made in ball-rooms, and at parties, than in tête-à-têtes.
Certain it is that Cecil, standing beside Blanche looking over the same portfolio, their hands occasionally touching, their eyes occasionally meeting, was in no condition to listen to the dictates of reason. A tumult of desire beat at his heart. He was standing within that atmosphere (if I may use the word) which surrounds the beloved, and which, as by a magnetic power, inconceivably stirs the voluptuousness latent in every soul. He was within the halo which encircled her, and was dazzled by its lustre. Irresistibly urged by his passion to call this lovely creature his own, he could not forego bringing things to a crisis; and he made the assignation. Her consent enchanted him. He was in a fever of impatience for her to retire. He cursed the lagging time for its slowness; and, with a thrill of delight, found himself in the open air, about to hear from Blanche's own lips that which her eyes had so frequently expressed.
In a few minutes, all this impatience and delight subsided. He had gained his point. Blanche had consented to meet him; and he had contrived to come to the rendezvous without awakening any suspicion. Now, for the first time, he began to consider seriously the object of that meeting. He was calm now; and grew calmer the more he pondered.