She turned her eyes sadly to his for a moment, as he still held her a prisoner.
“You believe me, then! You know how earnest I am!” cried Charley.
“Yes—yes!” she answered, her face bearing still the same sad weary expression.
“Listen to me, then,” continued Charley, his words sounding deep and husky. “If we were what you would call equals in station—an utterly false position—if I were some poor penniless tutor or curate telling you of my love, pleading to you earnestly, showing you in every way how dear you were to me, would you then—could you then—return that love?”
There was a silence for a few moments, and then, in a weak unguarded moment, Ella raised her eyes once more to his, to gaze, in spite of herself, fondly and earnestly, as she faintly breathed the one word “Yes.”
The next moment she had repented; for he had clasped her in his arms, to kiss her fondly again and again, as frightened and struggling she strove to escape.
“Pray—pray, Mr Vining,” she sobbed; “this is cruel—it is unfair to me;” and then she upbraided herself for her weakness.
But the next moment he was walking by her side, holding one hand still captive, as he urged and pleaded with a love-awakened earnestness, while Ella thought of all she had promised to Sir Philip Vining, and upbraided herself bitterly for not leaving Copse Hall, though the blame, if any, was not hers, since Mrs Brandon had again and again refused to hear of her departure. At last she roused herself, and for the next five minutes it was another spirit that contended with that of Charles Vining.
“Mr Vining,” she said, as quietly but firmly she withdrew her hand; and he saw that, though deeply moved, there was a quiet determined will in existence—“Mr Vining, you tell me that you love me.”
“And you believe me,” cried Charley hastily.