“Shall I ever see her?”
“I think not, Si’ora. It would do no good. There is that sad secret which you and I know, but which she does not know. I could not tell her about you without making her wonder how you and I had come to be such friends; and then——”
“You do not think that I would tell her?” exclaimed Lisa, with a wounded air.
“No, no; I know you would not. Only secrets come to light, sometimes, unawares. Let the future take care of itself. Once more, good-bye.”
“Once more, good-bye,” she echoed, in tones of deepest melancholy.
CHAPTER XVII.
“SHE WAS MORE FAIR THAN WORDS CAN SAY.”
If Easter had been a time of happiness for Vansittart and Eve, bringing with it the revelation of mutual love, Whitsuntide was no less happy; happier, perhaps, in its serene security, and in the familiarity of a love which seemed to have lasted for a long time.
“Only seven weeks!” exclaimed Eve, in one of their wanderings among the many cattle-tracks on Bexley Hill, no sound of life or movement in all the world around them save the hum of insects and the chime of cow bells. “To think that we have been engaged only seven weeks! It seems a lifetime.”
“Because you are so weary of me?” asked Vansittart, with a lover’s fatuous smile.