"No, no," said Rose, shaking her head, "I shall not say it now."
"Pray, don't spare me," said Cecil. "I am quite sure it was something satirical."
"It was; but I don't choose to say it now."
Captain Heath continued to pat Shot's head; but he neither looked up, nor joined in the conversation. Cecil, who had several times endeavoured in vain to make him talk, left him at last to his reflections, whispering to Rose,—
"He is too grave for our frivolities."
Cecil's excitement continued all the evening. He slept well that night, cradled in enchanting dreams.
What Blanche felt as she stole up to her own room, rapidly undressed herself, and crept into bed, I leave to my young and pretty readers to conjecture.
The next evening, though they had several brief snatches of tête-à-tête during the day, our lovers were again to indulge in a moonlight ramble, hoping no doubt for a repetition of the first. Blanche early pleaded fatigue, and declared her intention of soon retiring for the night.
"Don't go to bed, as you did last night," said Captain Heath; "if you are weary, take a turn with me in the shrubbery: there is a lovely moon."
Blanche coloured deeply, and kept her eyes fixed upon her work. Cecil looked at him, as if to read the hidden meaning of those words.