‘How we all—how I,’ said Wilfred, ‘shall miss these pleasant evenings! How many a one have I spent in your father’s house since we first met! I can safely say that I have never been so kindly treated under any roof in the whole world. As to your father, my dear old governor has always been too good, but I scarcely think he could do more for me than Mr. Rockley has done.’
‘Papa is always kind, that is, to people whom he likes,’ said Christabel with an absent indifference, as if Mr. Rockley’s philanthropy and irritability, his energy and his hospitality, were qualities of much the same social value.
At that moment the moonbeam was darkened by a passing cloud, and Wilfred drew nearer to the girl until he could almost feel her breath upon his hair, and hear her heart palpitate beneath the delicate fabric of her dress.
‘Christabel,’ he said, ‘ask your heart this night whether I am right in hoping that you will not accompany your parents to this rude settlement. Here you are known, honoured—yes, loved! Why leave one who would cherish you while life lasted?’
Christabel Rockley spoke not nor moved, but she cast her eyes down, till in the clear light the long dark lashes could be seen fringing her cheek. Her bosom heaved—she made no sign.
‘Christabel,’ he murmured, ‘darling Christabel, I have long loved you, fondly, passionately. One word will make me the happiest of living men. Bow but your head in token that you grant my prayer, and I will take it as a sign from Heaven. Stay with my mother till she embraces you as a loved daughter. Only say the word. Will you try to return, in your own good time, my deep, my unalterable love?’
She raised her head and looked fixedly at him as he stood there, the embodiment of love’s last appeal, in the direct path of the moon’s rays. His face and form, instinct with strong emotion, seemed glorified by the flood of light in which it was encircled.
‘I can hardly tell,’ she said. ‘I have been trying to think—asking myself if I can give you my heart, and this pale face of mine, that you set so much value on—foolish boy! I think I may, in a little while, if you will bear with me, but I would rather not say, for good and all, just at this moment. You will give me more time, won’t you? Ah! what is that?’ she suddenly broke off, with almost a shriek, as the roll of horse-hoofs smote clearly through the still night air upon the senses, almost upon the overwrought hearts of the listeners. ‘Who can it be? Surely it isn’t papa riding back on the warehouse-keeper’s cob?’
Not so. The hoofs of no mortal cob ever rang upon turf or roadway with the long, regular strokes of the steed of the coming horseman.
‘A thoroughbred horse!’ said Wilfred. ‘Tired, too, by his rolling stride. Whoever can it be at this time of night?’