For some minutes she remained in this attitude—motionless as the tree that supported her.
The sound of an approaching footstep failed to startle her. She heard, without heeding it. Her sorrow had rendered her insensible even to shame. She cared little now, who might behold her emotion.
The footstep was too light to be mistaken for that of a man. Marion had no time for conjecture: for almost on the instant, she heard the voice of her cousin Lora calling her by name.
“Marion! where are you?—I want you, cousin.”
“Here, Lora!” replied the latter, in a feeble voice, at the same time making an effort to appear calm.
“Oh!” exclaimed the pretty blonde, hurriedly making her way through the underwood, and stopping before her cousin with blushing cheeks and palpitating bosom. “Lord a mercy, coz!—I’ve got such a story to tell you. What do you think it is? Guess!”
“You know, I’m not good at guessing, Lora. I hope you havn’t lost your favourite merlin?”
“No—not so bad as that; though I’ve lost something.”
“What, pray?”
“A lover!”