Her first act, the next day, was to write a long and cheerful letter in reply to Winter's. She dilated much upon the kindness she received from Lady Desmond, on her contentment under her roof; yet she also dwelt on her anxiety to embrace her tried and true friends once more; and closed her letter with an exhortation as to their return before the winter set in; this missive despatched, she determined to take advantage of her unusually good spirits, and turning to the piano, practised delightedly for nearly an hour. She fancied, as exercise gradually restored flexibility to her voice, that it had acquired more richness and power from its long rest; hitherto she had only contributed instrumental music as her quota to the entertainment of her cousin's guests, and she proceeded to try an air of Gilpin's, to which she had adapted some lines of his sister's, thinking she would surprise and please Lady Desmond on her return. The music, which was simple, but most expressive, and very sostenuto, suited both her taste and her powers; she lingered over it with a sense of keen enjoyment; and when, at length, the last notes died away, she heaved a light sigh, partly the effect of fatigue; it was echoed, and turning with a sudden start, she beheld Lord Effingham standing near the window.
"Can you forgive my ill-bred intrusion?" he said, advancing towards her. "I have been calling on Colonel Dashwood; and walking round here, before mounting my horse, saw the garden-gate open, heard music, yielded to the temptation, and entered through the window."
"But my cousin is not yet returned," said Kate, with a smile.
"No, she does not return till to-morrow. I was aware of that; but I was not aware that you sang, and sang as you do. Why have I never heard you before?"
"I have not felt inclined to hear my own voice."
"And I," interrupted Lord Effingham, "would never desire to hear any other! speaking or singing, it is ever music to me!"
Kate stepped back in amazement at this address, incapable of reply; and Lord Effingham, after a short pause, as if expecting her to speak, went on rapidly—
"The words, 'I love you,' are too miserably weak to express what I feel. I have waited long to discover what your feelings are; you have not afforded me the slightest clue to them. I can endure your strange unconsciousness no longer, and am determined to lay mine bare before you in unmistakeable array. Kate! Miss Vernon, I know our natures are wide apart as heaven and earth, but still I can feel, in my inmost heart, that you have attained to a better and purer atmosphere than I have ever breathed. I know, that in your hands, I should be different from what I am. I tell you, that every shadow of good in me clings round you; and if you do not love me now, at least think before you—"