But the others knew, as a hidden hand-grasp testified.
“Now, mark!” commanded the lady, as Percy began to express his regrets at the unfortunate situation of the two women, “Mark what I say, and remember, we will have not a word of fault-finding, not a word of complaint. Here we are, and here we must make the best of it. It is all my fault, every bit and grain of it, and I am willing to bear the blame; but don’t blame me too severely.”
“Mercy! how it pours!” exclaimed the maid. “I am only thinking—how shall we ever find the way home in pitch darkness?”
Percy said, cheerfully, he thought there would be no trouble about that. “These sort of storms,” he went on, “are not of long duration. The clouds will soon pass off when the rain is done falling, and then we’ll have a moon within a day or two of its full to light us on our homeward way. My only serious thought is of the good old earl.”
“Hush!” cried the law-giver, with a light laugh. “That is complaint, and is forbidden. I will make it all right with dear old grandpa.”
The rain continued to fall in a torrent, ever and anon the lightning gleamed and the thunder came crashing down upon the solid roof.
The adventurers had eaten their luncheon and Mary had carefully packed the empty dishes back into the basket, by which time the darkness had shut them in like a pall. The blackest midnight could not have been darker.
Mary Seymour had found a seat at Percy’s feet, and, despite the terrific voices of the storm, was inclined to sleep. The long walk, the weight of the basket, and, moreover, the soporific influence of the atmosphere, had completely overcome her, and, with the basket for a pillow, she was ere long soundly asleep.
Percy held his watch in his hand, waiting for the next gleam of heaven’s light, and when it came he saw that it was close upon seven o’clock.
The sun had been gone little more than half an hour. Cordelia nestled close, held firmly in his loving embrace. And here, and thus, they exchanged the first sweet, ecstatic kiss of love.