Ethelston, having communicated the prosperous state of affairs to Cupid, and desired him to have all ready for immediate escape, hastened to obey another summons sent to him by Nina. He found her in a mood no less cheerful than before; and although she purposely averted her face, a smile, the meaning of which he could not define, played round the corner of her expressive mouth. Though really glad to escape homeward, and disposed to be grateful to Nina for her aid, he could not help feeling angry and vexed at the capricious eagerness with which she busied herself in contriving the departure of one to whom she had so lately given the strongest demonstration of tenderness; and although his heart told him that he could not love her, there was something in this easy and sudden withdrawal of her affection which wounded that self–love from which the best of men are not altogether free. These feelings gave an unusual coldness and constraint to his manner, when he inquired her further commands.
To this question Nina replied by saying, “Then, Mr. Ethelston, you are quite resolved to leave us, and to risk all the chances and perils of this voyage?”
“Quite,” he replied: “it is my wish, my duty, and my firm determination; and I entered the room,” he added, almost in a tone of reproof, “desirous of repeating to you my thanks for your kind assistance.”
Nina’s countenance changed; but, still averting it from Ethelston, she continued in a lower voice, “And do you leave us without pain—without regret?”
There was a tremor, a natural feeling in the tone in which she uttered these few words, that recalled to his mind all that he had seen her suffer, and drove from it the harsh thoughts which he had begun to entertain; and he answered, in a voice from which his self–command could not banish all traces of emotion, “Dear Nina, I shall leave you with regret that would amount to misery, if I thought that my visit had brought any permanent unhappiness into this house. I desire to leave you as a Mentor should leave a beloved pupil—as a brother leaves a sister; with a full hope, that when I am gone, you will fulfil your parents’ wishes, your own auspicious destinies, and that, after years and years of happiness among those whom Fate has decreed to be the companions of your life, you will look back upon me as upon a faithful adviser of your youth,—an affectionate friend, who——“
Nina’s nerves were not strung for the part she had undertaken: gradually her countenance had grown pale as marble; a choking sensation oppressed her throat; and she sunk in a chair, sobbing, rather than uttering, the word, “Water.” It was fortunately at hand; and having placed it in a glass by her side, Ethelston retired to the window to conceal his own emotion, and to allow time for that of Nina to subside.
After a few minutes she recovered her self–possession; and although still deadly pale, her voice was distinct and firm, as she said, “Ethelston, I am ashamed of this weakness; but it is over: we will not speak of the past, and will leave to Fate the future. Now listen to me: all the arrangements for your departure will be complete by to–morrow evening. At an hour before midnight, a small boat, with one man, will be at the Quai du Marché, below the Place St. Louis. It is far from the fort, and there is no sentry near the spot: you can then row to the vessel and depart. But is it not too dangerous?” she added. “Can you risk it? for the wind whistles terribly, and I fear the approach of a hurricane!”
Ethelston’s eye brightened as he replied, “A rough night is the fairest for the purpose, Nina.”
“Be it so,” she replied. “Now, in return for all that I have done for you, there is only one favour I have to ask at your hands.”
“Name it,” said Ethelston, eagerly.