Shaded from the declining sun by a broad garden-hat, he thought Ellinor's face never looked so charming before. Her eyes were peculiarly her greatest beauty; they were of the clearest and most luminous hazel—not very dark, and sweetly trustful and straightforward in expression; but they drooped now and sought the flower-beds, for something she read in those of young Rolandsburg told her what was coming.
In the physical nature of some people who love keenly there is a mysterious sympathy that draws them together, and the baron, thinking that she was inspired by that now, put out his hand to touch hers, but she withdrew it.
This was not encouraging, but he drew nearer her half-averted ear, and whispered bluntly enough, but tremulously, nevertheless,
'This is a great joy finding you alone—alone, that I may tell you what I have been longing—dying to tell you for weeks past—that I love you, Ellinor, and you only!'
In his foreign accent and half-broken English, the avowal sounded very pretty and simple, but did not touch Ellinor much, though she trembled and grew pale, for no woman can have such things said to her and remain quite unmoved.
'Love me—how strange!' said she, scarcely knowing what to say.
'To you it may seem so,' he continued, slowly and earnestly; 'for I know or suspect that you cherish some dead—some mysterious memory, and that you cannot or may not care for me as I wish you to do; but that does not prevent me from loving you, and you may never understand, even dimly, how much I do love you, and I can keep this secret untold no longer.'
'I respect you much, baron,' replied Ellinor, for his declaration was more formal than impetuous; 'but mere talking to me will not make me love you in return. I feel quite confused—most unhappy to hear all this; and we shall have to go away from Altona.'
'Go from Altona?'
'Yes.'