The summer twilight deepened into night. The sculptor and Miss Herbert stood upon the broad and gravelled terrace-walk that runs along the stately front of Acton Hall. They leaned upon the gray stone balustrade; the girl with musing eye was looking down on shadowy lawn and flower-bed underneath; the young man looked at her, and her alone. Silence reigned long between them, but at last she spoke.
“You really go to-morrow?”
“Tell me to stay, and I will stay,” he said, passionately, “but next week—next month—next year, the moment, when it does come, will be just as bitter.”
She did not urge him. She was silent. He drew very near to her.
“Eugenia,” he whispered, “you love me?”
“I think so.” Her eyes were still looking over the darkening garden. She spoke dreamily, and as one who is not quite certain.
“You think so! Listen! Before we part let me tell you what your love means to me. If, when first I asked for it you had scorned me, I could have left you unhappy, but still a man. Now it means life or death to me. There is no middle course—no question of joy or misery—simply life or death! Eugenia, look at me and say you love me!”
His dark eyes charmed and compelled her. “I love you! I love you?” she murmured. Her words satisfied him; moreover, she let the hand he grasped remain in his, perhaps even returning the pressure of his own. So they stood for more than an hour, whilst Gerald talked of the future and the fame he meant to win—talked as one who has the fullest confidence in his own powers and directing genius.
Presently they saw Mr. Herbert walking through the twilight towards them. Gerald’s hand tightened on the girl’s so as to cause her positive pain.
“Remember,” he whispered; “life or death! Think of it while we are apart. Your love means a man’s life or death!”