We will not say what thoughts agitated her breast, but she felt that the critical moment had arrived, and trembled lest any interruption should occur before the word was uttered that might decide her fate.
She did not look at the lovely parterre of flowers before her—nor listen to the plashing of the fountain—she heard nothing—saw nothing. But the accents she longed for were not breathed, and Lord Derwentwater remained silent. Why did he not speak?
Fearing the moment might pass, she raised her magnificent eyes, which had been thrown upon the ground, and fixed them full upon him.
Though he spoke not, he had been watching her, and the glance he now encountered pierced his breast. How much was conveyed in that long, passionate look! How eloquent was the earl's reply! An instantaneous revelation was made to each of the state of the other's heart. No longer any doubt. He knew she loved him. She felt he was won.
Yet, as if to make assurance doubly sure, he took her hand. She did not withdraw it, and still gazing tenderly at her, he said in a low voice, but which was distinctly audible:
“Can you love me, Anna?”
Her glance became even more passionate, as she answered:
“I can—I do.”
“Will you be mine, then?” demanded the earl, passing his arm round her waist, and drawing her towards him.
Her reply must have been in the affirmative, yet it was almost stifled by the kiss imprinted on her lips.