"Gertrude," said he at last, "whatever happens to us two, you will never forget that I loved you?"
"I think I may be sure of that," she said, looking down.
They rang a bell outside.
"Good-by, then."
He tightly grasped the hand he held; once more he gazed into those clear and confiding eyes—with an almost piteously anxious look: then he kissed her and hurried away. But she was bold enough to follow. Her eyes were very moist. Her heart was beating fast. If Glenogie had there and then challenged her, and said, "Come, then, sweetheart; will you fly with me? And the proud mother will meet you. And the gentle cousin will attend on you. And Castle Dare will welcome the young bride!"—what would she have said? The moment was over. She only saw the train go gently away from the station; and she saw the piteous eyes fixed on hers; and while he was in sight she waved her handkerchief. When the train had disappeared she turned away with a sigh.
"Poor fellow," she was thinking to herself, "he is very much in earnest—far more in earnest than even poor Howson. It would break my heart if I were to bring him any trouble."
By the time she had got to the end of the platform, her thoughts had taken a more cheerful turn.
"Dear me," she was saying to herself, "I quite forgot to ask him whether my Gaelic was good!"
When she had got into the street outside, the day was brightening.
"I wonder," she was asking herself, "whether Carry would come and look at that exhibition of water-colors; and what would the cab fare be?"