The evening closed at length; and passing along the corridor leading from the library to the stairs, a well-known step suddenly sounded behind her, and the voice of Reginald de Vere called her by name.
“I thought you intended to retire without even wishing me good night,” she said, playfully, her spirit rallying with his appearance. “What do you mean, sir, by such treatment? Be better behaved to-morrow, and I will be merciful, and forgive.”
“You must forgive me to-night, dearest Annie; for to-morrow will see me many miles on my road to Portsmouth, thence speedily to embark for Spain.”
“Portsmouth—Spain!” repeated the bewildered girl; and her hand so trembled, that the lamp she held dropped from it, and was instantly extinguished.
“Yes, Annie, to Spain!” he answered, struggling for calmness. “I am of age now; poor, but not so utterly dependent as I have been. My father’s house I will never enter more. You start, Annie, but do not—do not condemn me. Judge me by no reasoning but that of your own kind gentle heart. I can bear no more than that which I have borne. Boyhood must submit to a parent’s tyranny; but manhood owns no such law. You know how I would have loved my father, and how he has spurned me. Still I lingered, vainly striving to elicit one softer feeling, hoping—idiot that I was—that he would yet love me. But the dream is over! He drew the reins still tighter, and so snapped them; there is a measure to endurance even in a son. Do not weep thus, Annie,” he continued, conquering his own emotion to soothe hers, and passing his arm round her, as he had so often done in earlier years, when as a brother he had soothed her griefs and shared her joys. “I will not burden you with the final cause of my present resolution. I have neither means nor influence to tread the path to which my inmost soul aspires; and to toil for lingering years behind a merchant’s desk or tradesman’s counter my spirit will not bear. I have obtained a commission amongst the brave fellows now about to join General Mina in his gallant defence of the young queen; and with him these restless yearnings may be stilled in the activity of martial service, or the quiet of the grave. And who will mourn for me?” he continued, rapidly and bitterly; “who, in the wide world, will think of me, or shed one tear for me, save thine own sweet self? Oh, Annie, speak to me! Tell me you will think of me sometimes. I know there will be many, very many, to supply my place to you; but, oh, who will ever be to me as you have been?”
“And yet you have decided on this plan, endured more than ever, and told me not a word. Reginald, was this kind?” she said, struggling with the tears that nearly suffocated her.
“You were in grief already, Annie; how might I ask your sympathy in mine? I know it never was refused me. I know it would not be, even in your own sorrow; but oh, Annie, I felt if I waited to look on you again, I should fail in courage to leave England. Yet why should I linger? Changed as your prospects are, loved as you will be by those so much more deserving, what could I be to you?”
“Reginald!” murmured poor Annie, wholly unconscious of the nature of her own feelings, yet unable to utter another word.
“I know you will not forget me, Annie, dearest Annie, your nature is too good, too kind, too truthful for such change; but, fated as I am, how dare I ask for, hope for more than a sister’s love? Say you will sometimes think of me, love me as—as a brother, Annie, darling! and life will not be so wholly desolate.”
Her reply was almost inarticulate, and passionate words rose to Reginald’s lips, but they were not spoken. He led her to the door of her apartment without another word, wrung both her hands in his, bade “God bless her!” and was gone. Annie stood for a few minutes as if stunned; mechanically she loosed the wreath of white rosebuds from her hair, the fastening of her dress, which seemed to stifle her very breath, and then she sunk on her knees beside the bed, and the hot tears gushed forth; and long, long she wept, as that young guileless girl had never wept before.