private interview with Evan, threw up his hands and eyes as one who foretold astonishment but counselled humility. What with the effort of those who knew a little to imply a great deal; of those who knew all to betray nothing; and of those who were kept in ignorance to strain a fact out of the conflicting inuendoes, the general mystification waxed apace, and was at its height, when a name struck on Evan’s ear that went through his blood like a touch of the torpedo.
He had been called into the parlour to assist at a consultation over the brewery affairs. Mr. John Raikes opened the door, and announced “Sir Franks and Lady Jocelyn.”
Them he could meet, though it was hard for his pride to pardon their visit to him there. But when his eyes discerned Rose behind them, the passions of his lower nature stood up armed. What could she have come for but to humiliate, or play with him?
A very few words enabled the Countess to guess the cause for this visit. Of course, it was to beg time! But they thanked Evan. For something generous, no doubt. Sir Franks took him aside, and returning remarked to his wife that she perhaps would have greater influence with him. All this while Rose sat talking to Mrs. Andrew Cogglesby, Mrs. Strike, and Evan’s mother. She saw by his face the offence she had committed, and acted on by one of her impulses, said: “Mama, I think if I were to speak to Mr. Harrington—”
Ere her mother could make light of the suggestion, Old Tom had jumped up, and bowed out his arm.
“Allow me to conduct ye to the drawing-room, up-stairs, young lady. He’ll follow, safe enough!”
Rose had not stipulated for that. Nevertheless, seeing no cloud on her mother’s face, or her father’s, she gave Old Tom her hand, and awaited a movement from Evan. It was too late to object to it on either side. Old Tom had caught the tide at the right instant. Much as if a grim old genie had planted them together, the lovers found themselves alone.
“Evan, you forgive me?” she began, looking up at him timidly.
“With all my heart, Rose,” he answered, with great cheerfulness.
“No. I know your heart better. Oh, Evan! you must be sure that we respect you too much to wound you. We came to thank you for your generosity. Do you refuse to accept anything for us? How can we take this that you thrust on us, unless in some way—”
“Say no more,” he interposed. “You see me here. You know me as I am now.”
“Yes, yes!” the tears stood in her eyes. “Why did I come, you would ask? That is what you cannot forgive! I see now how useless it was. Evan! why did you betray me?”
“Betray you, Rose?”
“You said that you loved me once.”
She was weeping, and all his spirit melted, and his love cried out: “I said ‘till death,’ and till death it will be, Rose.”
“Then why, why did you betray me, Evan? I know it all. But if you blackened yourself to me, was it not because you loved something better than me? And now you think me false! Which of us two has been false? It’s silly to talk of these things now—too late! But be just. I wish that we may be friends. Can we, unless you bend a little?”
The tears streamed down her cheeks, and in her lovely humility he saw the baseness of that pride of his which had hitherto held him up.
“Now that you are in this house where I was born and am to live, can you regret what has come between us, Rose?”
Her lips quivered in pain.
“Can I do anything else but regret it all my life, Evan?”
How was it possible for him to keep his strength?
“Rose!” he spoke with a passion that made her shrink, “are you bound to this man?” and to the drooping of her eyes, “No. Impossible, for you do not love him. Break it. Break the engagement you cannot fulfil. Break it, and belong to me. It sounds ill for me to say that in such a place. But, Rose, I will leave it. I will accept any assistance that your father—that any man will give me. Beloved—noble girl! I see my falseness to you, though I little thought it at the time—fool that I was! Be my help, my guide—as the soul of my body! Be mine!”
“Oh, Evan!” she clasped her hands in terror at the change in him, that was hurrying her she knew not where, and trembling held them supplicatingly.
“Yes, Rose: you have taught me what love can be. You cannot marry that man.”
“But my honour, Evan! No. I do not love him; for I can love but one. He has my pledge. Can I break it?”
The stress on the question choked him, just as his heart sprang to her.
“Can you face the world with me, Rose?”
“Oh, Evan! is there an escape for me? Think! Decide! No—no! there is not. My mother, I know, looks on it. Why did she trust me to be with you here, but that she thinks me engaged to him, and has such faith in me? Oh, help me!—be my guide. Think whether you would trust me hereafter! I should despise myself.”
“Not if you marry him!” said Evan, bitterly. And then thinking as men will think when they look on the figure of a fair girl marching serenely to a sacrifice, the horrors of which they insist that she ought to know:—half-hating her for her calmness—adoring her for her innocence: he said: “It rests with you, Rose. The world will approve you, and if your conscience does, why—farewell, and may Heaven be your help.”
She murmured, “Farewell.”
Did she expect more to be said by him? What did she want or hope for now? And yet a light of hunger grew in her eyes, brighter and brighter, as it were on a wave of yearning.
“Take my hand once,” she faltered.
Her hand and her whole shape he took, and she with closed eyes let him strain her to his breast.
Their swoon was broken by the opening of the