And now he leaned lingeringly upon those park railings, watching the light, far distant as it was, that he believed to be that which shone from Isa’s chamber, till at last it was extinct, and it was like the crushing out of hope from his aching breast. For what was his fate? The next day must see him far away from Merland, leaving one whom he knew to love him, at the mercy of father and favoured suitor. True, there was the frequent sense of her sweet kiss, the dear confession of the love of her pure young heart, yet upon his lip; but what would they say to her—how would they impress her with the impossibility of a union? With no friend and adviser but that true-hearted Jane McCray, what could the poor girl do?
Brace Norton sighed—a sigh that was almost a groan, as he felt what must be the end; and recalling the past—the old story told him by his mother—he seemed to see such another wedding scene as Merland church had once before witnessed. But no; he thought he would be far away, chained by duty to his vessel; and he should return at last, a broken-hearted, aimless man. He would not blame her, for she would, he knew, be forced into it, and there was no help—none!
An hour must have passed away as he stood there that dark night, thinking of his journey on the morrow, and of his utter distaste now for the sea life he had loved so well. Promotion, the hope of commanding his own vessel, all the ambition of his nature, had given place to the passionate love which pervaded his soul; and at last, after an intense, longing gaze at the dark mass of buildings seen against the sky in front, he was about to turn and leave the shadow of the clump of trees that overhung the palings where he stood, when he started, and his heart began to beat heavily, he knew not why, at the unwonted sound of a heavy step coming down the lane. For this was but a by-way, and no one but a keeper, or a late-returning servant from the village, would be likely to take that path so late at night.
“I had better not be seen,” thought Brace, and his face flushed with annoyance at having to play such a hiding rôle, as he drew farther back into the shade.
The step came nearer, and then suddenly grew indistinct, as the new-comer stepped on to the turf at the lane side; but there was a faint rustling amongst the fallen leaves, which told of whoever it was coming nearer and nearer.
“One of the servants,” muttered Brace; and then as his thoughts wandered to the morrow—“could I not prolong my stay? could I not get increased leave of absence? To torture myself more bitterly,” he muttered the next instant fiercely; and then he was brought back to the present by the footsteps becoming more audible, and at last stopping close by where he stood.
Brace Norton remained motionless, as from the shade he could indistinctly make out the figure of a heavy-looking, muscular man, in rough clothes, pressing forward, as it were, and gazing right in his face.
“Discovered watching here,” he thought, bitterly, “and all to be conveyed to the baronet and my lord, as a means of disparagement, in her hearing. Shall I bribe the scoundrel to be silent? No,” he thought, “I will not. Let him bear his pitiful news; and, if it comes to her ears that I was watching, like a thief at midnight, she will know why. Her poor heart will interpret my feelings, and give one beat for me.”
Brace Norton’s thoughts, it must be owned, were of a romantic tendency, but, perhaps, it was excusable at such a time; and, nerving himself, he stood perfectly motionless, waiting for the man, whoever he was, to speak.
But it was dark; and, had it been possible, Brace Norton, as he stood there, for some few minutes, with the new-comer apparently gazing full in his face, would have seen that the man’s gaze was vacant and strange, and that his eyes failed to pierce the gloom around.