“Aileen,” he resumed, “I may never see you again. Your father intends that I shall not. Your looks seem to say that you fear as much. Now, my heart tells me that I shall; but, whatever betide, or wherever I go, let me assure you that I will continue to love you with unalterable fidelity. More than this I shall not say, less I could not. You said that these New Testaments”—pointing to a pile of four or five which lay on the table—“are meant to be given to poor men. I am a poor man: will you give me one?”
“Willingly,” said Aileen, taking one from the pile.
She handed it to her lover without a single word, but with a tender anxious look that went straight to his heart, and took up its lodging there—to abide for ever!
The youth grasped the book and the hand at once, and, stooping, pressed the latter fervently to his lips.
At that moment Miss Pritty was heard tripping along the passage.
Edgar sprang to intercept her, and closed the door of the boudoir behind him.
“Why, Edgar, you seem in haste!”
“I am, dear aunt; circumstances require that I should be. Come down-stairs with me. I have stayed too long already. I am going abroad, and may not spend more time with you this evening.”
“Going abroad!” exclaimed Miss Pritty, in breathless surprise, “where?”
“I don’t know. To China, Japan, New Zealand, the North Pole—anywhere. In fact, I’ve not quite fixed. Good-bye, dear aunt. Sorry to have seen so little of you. Good-bye.”