'Of course—to help her to water her ferns, which she does indefatigably, although a staff of gardeners are kept here at Eaglescraig.'
'And to feed her favourite pigeons at the dovecot.'
'How touchingly domestic; how d——d Arcadian!' said Hew, more viciously than ever. 'Are they on the lawn?'
'No; I think they took the path that leads to the grotto,' replied Mrs. Garth, not unwilling to pique the jealousy of Hew, who muttered an ugly word, and at once left the house to seek them in their ramble.
For this circumstance Sir Piers was in some measure to blame, as he had desired Mary to show Falconer a curious grotto, or cavern, partly natural and partly artificial, under the old tower of Eaglescraig, in which tradition said some centuries ago, when the wall which had concealed it fell, a so-called magic lamp had been discovered hanging from a chain in the rocky roof. The flame, when first seen, was thought to be a Jack-o'-lantern, but was found to proceed from what was supposed to be an ancient sepulchral lamp, prepared with matter spontaneously combustible on the accession of air, and which, instead of burning for centuries, had only taken light when the grotto was opened.
Be all that as it may, neither Cecil nor Mary troubled themselves much about the archæology of the place, though they certainly lingered there, they scarcely knew why, and she clung to his arm, for the mouth of the grotto opened inwards from the rock on which the mansion stood, and overlooked the Firth of Clyde, three hundred feet below.
Alone with Mary there, Cecil felt that he was becoming more devoted and empressé every moment, in spite of his recent resolutions and the warnings of Mrs. Garth.
Their conversation was somewhat disjointed and desultory, especially so far as Cecil was concerned; for the eve of his departure was drawing near; he knew not when, or if ever, he might see Mary Montgomerie again, and the great secret of his heart loaded his tongue. But the faltering accents and broken language of love are generally expressions of the fullest eloquence to her who hears them; and now, filled by all the charm her presence inspired, while gazing into her face which had all the soul-like beauty that radiates from within, Cecil Falconer felt his heart flying to his head, and while pressing to his side the little hand that leant upon his arm, he said:
'Another day—only one short day more—and this time of joy, so sweet to me, will have become a thing of the past—a dream—but a past never to be forgotten!'
'I am glad that you have been happy with us—we live so quietly here at Eaglescraig,' she replied, affecting to misunderstand what he so evidently referred to.