Nelly had not been long alone when she heard a hasty footstep approaching. The door opened, and Eban Cowan stood before her. A dark frown was on his brow, his eyes she thought had a wild and fierce expression she had never before seen them wear. Her heart sank within her, and she in vain tried to speak in her usually friendly tone.
“Good evening, Eban; what brings you here at this hour?” she said, on seeing him stand gazing at her without uttering a word.
“Nelly, I have come to ask you a question, and as you answer it you will make me more happy than I have been for many a long day, or you will send me away a miserable wretch, and you will never, it may be, see me again.”
“I shall be sorry not to see you again, Eban, for we have been friends from our earliest days, and I hoped that we should always remain so,” answered Nelly, mustering all the courage she possessed to speak calmly.
“That is what drives me to desperation,” he exclaimed. “Nelly, is it true that you are going to marry Michael Penguyne?”
“I hope so, if it is God’s will, as you ask me to tell you,” said Nelly, firmly. “I fancied that you were his friend, as you always were mine. And, Eban, I pray that you may not feel any ill-will towards either of us, because we love each other, and are sure we shall be happy together.”
“Is that the only answer you have to give me?” exclaimed Eban, hoarsely.
“I can say nothing more nor less,” said Nelly, gently. “I am very sorry that my answer should make you unhappy, but you insisted on having it, and I can say nothing more.”
Eban gazed at her for a moment, and appeared to be about to utter a threat, but he restrained himself, and turning hastily round rushed out of the cottage.
She was thankful that he had gone, yet a feeling of undefined fear of what he might do in his present angry mood stole over her. She was well aware of his fierce and daring character, and she had heard from her granny of desperate deeds done by men whose addresses had been rejected by girls whom they professed to love.