Jerome, looking at her in the softened, yet still clear light, thought he had never seen anything half so beautiful, as she stood with her hand in his, and her eyes fixed with something like fascination in their gaze upon his face. At last, he put his other hand upon hers; and her gaze could no longer meet his deep look, as he said, in a low voice:
‘Then you are not displeased with me for coming? You are glad to see me?’
‘Very glad,’ she replied, in a lower tone still. But it was as if, with the actual sound of his voice and her own, her presence of mind deserted her. She felt herself begin to tremble. Withdrawing her hand from his, she sank down again upon her chair, and pointed to one beside her, saying, hesitatingly:
‘You have left Ems suddenly. I—I heard of your father’s death, before I left Trockenau. I did not like to intrude or—or I would have written; but——’
‘But you have thought of me?’ he said, looking intently at her half-averted face.
‘Yes, I thought of you,’ replied Sara.
‘I hoped you would, though I do not deserve that you should. I must explain why I called. I am on my way home—to England, that is, with my sister. I have to go to look after my affairs, such as they are. You said, when you were talking at Trockenau, that you would allow me to call when I passed through Elberthal. Miss Ford—I——’
‘You—yes?’ she asked, for he had paused.
‘I have fought a desperate battle with myself, to know whether I ought to do what I most desired to do—whether I ought to call upon you or not.’
‘Whether you ought. Why not? I do not understand——’