"Yes—that was a sunny time—I see you have not forgotten it, nor our long walks, when I carried Amy over the wet fields, with you by my side, caring very little for all the stiles, and broken hedges, and deep ditches, which only made the walk more pleasant and exciting; and then, as we went, how we talked of noble deeds, and seemed, in our fancy, to emulate them—how many bright visions came with the merry carol of the birds, the glad sunshine above us, and the innocent flowers at our feet, and with the echo of our own wild gaiety, as the hills sent it back upon our ears. But do you remember that sparkling trout-stream, where, as I fished, we sat for hours, without speaking a word, thinking of—I know not what; but quite enough to make us still and happy. Oh, Mabel, Mabel, will you refuse to recall those happy scenes again. Will you not say the word which would send me back, almost a boy, to my native hills again?"
For an instant a bright, sunny light, illumined her countenance, but in that same instant it had passed, leaving nothing but darkness and sadness behind, and her lip quivered with agitation, when she rose and tried to answer him, but her voice failed her many times before she could say, in trembling accents—
"You have placed a gulf between us, and you know I dare not pass it."
Hargrave rose also, and staying her in her purpose of leaving him, he took both her hands, holding her from him, that she might see all the intense affection, which glowed in every line of his manly face.
"Only tell me you love me still," he said, in a low, thrilling voice.
"Oh! Henry, let me go," she cried, looking timidly at him; "this night of all others. Oh! let me go."
"What!" he said, loosening her hands; "am I not worthy to speak to you? But I have deserved all this—richly deserved it; the guard I have placed upon my feelings must have seemed an insult."
"No, no, Henry; oh! do not be angry," she said, entreatingly.
"At least hear me then," said Hargrave, advancing one step to meet her, while his face grew pale as he spoke. "I am no longer that daring infidel you believe me, but a sinner condemned by the very creed I profess; little as I deserve it, will you take me back—back to that very innermost heart, in which I was once enshrined?"
Was there any doubt to be implied in the cry of joy, with which Mabel sunk upon his breast. He looked down upon her with love and pride—such love, breathing in every changing expression of his features; but they were silent, there were no words that could have spoken all the happiness of that one moment. Time seemed to have gone back, and placed them as they were six years before, in all the fond and trusting confidence, which, till then, had received no check.