"Lilian, you were ever good and gentle," said Walter, altogether overcome by her tears, and pressing her hand between his own. "Deeply, deeply do I feel the mortification you must endure; but do not weep thus—it wrings my very heart!"
She permitted him to retain her hand, (there was no harm in that,) but his thoughts became tumultuous; he kissed it; and as his lips touched her for the first time, his whole soul seemed to rush to them.
"Oh, Lilian, were I rich, I feel that I could love you."
"And if one is poor, can they not love too?" she asked artlessly.
"Oh, yes, Lilian—dear Lilian," said Walter, quite borne away by his passion, and greatly agitated; but his arm could not encircle her, for the envious grating intervened: "deeply do I feel at this moment how bitter, how hopeless, may be the love of the poor. But if I dared to tell you that the little page, Walter, who so often carried your mantle and led your horse's bridle—now, when a man, aspired so far——"
The girl trembled violently, and said, in a feeble voice of alarm, "Oh, hush—hush, some one approaches."
"Then away to Douglas, for he alone can protect you. One word ere you go: you have found a secure and secret shelter?"
"Humble and secret, at least."
"With the Lauries of Maxwelton?"
"Oh, no, their house is already suspected. In the poor cottage of my nurse, old Elsie Elshender, at St. Rocque—there we bide our fate in poverty and obscurity."