"Pardon me for this, Sybil," said he, as the action brought a little colour to her pale cheek, "but I love you, love you dearly. Elsewhere, we shall talk of this—come, allow me to be your guide."
"Shall we not wait till the tide ebbs, and escape by the sands?" she asked, and shrinking as his arm encircled her.
"Dearest girl, you would die of cold ere that took place."
Thus from terror and despair on Sybil's part, and from a proud and joyous sense of exultation, on that of Trevelyan, there came about abruptly, a dénouement which might have been long of developing itself, even with those who were so young and enthusiastic, a declaration of love upon one hand, and a tacit acceptance of it on the other, for gratitude mastered the regard already formed in the heart of the girl.
Audley was now in that delightful state of the tender passion, when to see even the skirt, to hear the voice or to breathe the same atmosphere, with its object, had a charm; then how much greater was the joy of having her all to himself, and to feel that too probably, she owed her life to him!
"You do not—do not—love—" she faltered and paused.
"Whom?"
"Rose Trecarrel?"
"I love but you, and I bless God for the opportunity given me for testifying that love, by serving and saving you—Sybil—dear Sybil for so let me call you now and for ever."
"What the deuce are you about, Trevelyan? Do you mean to stay down there all night—or is the lady ill? That dreary hole can be neither romantic nor pleasant, I should fancy."