Scarcely capable of replying, Theodora returned his greeting, but instantly her confusion overcame her, and she asked, with a deep blush, how he, whom she had thought so distant, came to be just here.
“O, this place,” was his reply, “is the destination of my poor father’s journey.”
“Then you are here for the same purpose that we are?” asked she. “What is your father’s disease?”
“Ah! let me be silent upon that point,” sighed Robert; “I am very unhappy. But I trust in God that these clouds will clear off; and now that I see you, all seems brighter and more hopeful. And,” continued he, gazing searchingly into her clear, calm eyes, “I am very vain; but your looks tells me, Theodora, that you still remember those happy meetings in R——. You shall learn to know me; you shall not find me unworthy of your love; and then I will place the decision of our fate in your father’s hands, and my father, too—why can I not lead you to him now, and say, ‘See, father, the happiness of your only son.’ ”
“And why do you fear him?” said Theodora, “does he know me?”
“I must not say,” sighed Robert; “the hand of fate is heavy upon me now; but here and there I can discern through the clouds the clear blue of heaven. O, trust in me, Theodora, if I am an outcast now, trust my heart, full of love, if there is in yours one spark of interest in me.”
The thorns in this declaration pressed deep into the heart of the poor girl. Confidence, love, and doubt raised a wild warfare in her breast; she saw the heaven of her pure first love so overclouded, and she saw Robert depart with a heavier heart than she had ever known before. The next day, and the next, while her father was bathing, Robert was with her; and although her confidence in him grew continually, the riddle grew more dark and mysterious.
“Say not a word even to your father of our love,” said Robert; “I plead only for a little time, and I myself will open my heart to him.”
As long as he was with her, she felt consoled, but with his departure, her peace fled.
The happy father, in the meantime, did not perceive his daughter’s increasing melancholy. Two weeks had done wonders for him; every day he grew stronger. The reviving air breathed new life into the worthy man. “O, my child,” said he, joyfully, throwing open the gate one day, at the commencement of the third week, “what do you think I have seen? You will scarcely believe it; but it is really so—a Banksia serrata, in full bloom, stands in the castle garden. O, Dora! the exquisite contrast, such heavenly blue and gorgeous yellow! I—but you must see it; and, only think, the gardener has promised me a shoot! God has blessed our goings out and our comings in; only see how well I can move my arm; in another week I shall be as well—better than ever. But there is so much misery here—if I were only rich; and there is one man so wretched, who, dressed in a miserable old gray coat, walks about all day amongst the gay and happy—if I only had a little money for him, he should find his health, too, in these glorious baths.”