“I shall see you there,” he said. “So long as we are in the same place everything is sweet; and I have always taken so much interest in your dear voice that no one can suspect. And to-night you will come—promise me, my darling—just after the service, when it is getting dark?”
“Yes,” she whispered, with a sigh—then started from his side. “I saw some one among the trees. The old Chevaliers are coming up for their morning walk. Let me go now—you must let me go—Mr. Ridsdale——”
“‘Mr. Ridsdale!’ How can I let my Lottie go before she has called me by my right name?”
“Oh, I must not stay. I see people coming,” said Lottie, disappointed, troubled, afraid of being seen, yet angry with herself for being afraid. “Mr. Ridsdale—Rollo, dear Rollo—let me go now——”
“Till it is time for the Signor——” And he did let her go, with a hasty withdrawal on his own part, for unmistakably there were people to be seen moving about among the trees; not, indeed, coming near their corner, yet within sight of them. Lottie left him hurriedly, not looking back. She was ashamed, though she had no cause for shame. She ran down the bank to the little path which led to the foot of the hill and to the town. She could not go up and run the risk of being seen going home by the Dean’s Walk. She drew her veil over her face, and her cheeks burned with blushes; she was ashamed, though she had done no wrong. And Rollo stood looking down after her, watching her with a still more acute pang. There were things which were very painful to him which did not affect her. That a girl like Lottie should go away alone, unattended, and walk through the street, with no one with her, a long round, annoyed him beyond measure. He ought to have gone with her, or some one ought to be with her. But then, what could he do? He might as well give up the whole matter at once as betray all he was meditating to his people in this way. But he watched her, leaning over the low parapet, with trouble and shame. The girl whom he loved ought not to go about unattended, and this relic of chivalry, fallen into conventionality, moved him more than greater things. He did not object, like Ferdinand, to let his Miranda carry his load for him; but it did trouble him that she should walk through St. Michael’s by herself, though in the sweet security of the honest morning. Thus minds differ all over the world.
PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
COLLECTION
OF
B R I T I S H A U T H O R S
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 1825.
WITHIN THE PRECINCTS BY MRS. OLIPHANT.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.