"Not Rose? Oh!"
An exclamation, properly lengthened, convinces the feelings more satisfactorily than much logic. Though Evan claimed only the handkerchief he had won, his heart sank at the sound. Miss Bonner watched him, and springing forward, said sharply:
"May I tell you something?"
"You may tell me what you please."
"Then, whether I offend you or not, you had better leave this."
"I am going," said Evan. "I am only waiting to introduce your tutor to you."
She kept her eyes on him, and in her voice as well there was a depth, as she returned:
"Mr. Laxley, Mr. Forth, and Harry, are going to Lymport to-morrow."
Evan was looking at a figure, whose shadow was thrown towards the house from the margin of the stream.
He stood up, and taking the hand of Miss Bonner, said:
"I thank you. I may, perhaps, start with them. At any rate, you have done me a great service, which I shall not forget."
The figure by the stream he knew to be that of Rose. He released Miss Bonner's trembling. moist hand, and as he continued standing, she moved to the door, after once following the line of his eyes into the moonlight.
Outside the door a noise was audible. Andrew had come to sit with his dear boy, and the Countess had met and engaged and driven him to the other end of the passage, where he hung remonstrating with her.
"Why, Van," he said, as Evan came up to him, "I thought you were in a profound sleep. Louisa said—"
"Silly Andrew!" interposed the Countess, "do you not observe he is sleep-walking now?" and she left them with a light laugh to go to Juliana, whom she found in tears. The discovery of one lie always impelled the Countess to a fresh and a bolder one, and she was quite aware of the efficacy of a little bit of burlesque lying to cover her retreat from any petty exposure.
Evan soon got free from Andrew. He was under the dim stars, walking to the great fire in the East. The cool air refreshed him. He was simply going to ask for his own, before he went, and had no cause to fear what would be thought by any one. A handkerchief! A man might fairly win that, and carry it out of a very noble family, without having to blush for himself.
I cannot say whether he inherited his feeling for rank from Mel, his father, or that the Countess had succeeded in instilling it, but Evan never took Republican ground in opposition to those who insulted him, and never lashed his "manhood" to assert itself, nor compared the fineness of his instincts with the behaviour of titled gentlemen. Rather he seemed to admit the distinction between his birth and that of a gentleman, admitting it to his own soul, as it were, and struggled simply as men struggle against a destiny. The news Miss Bonner had given him sufficed to break a spell which could not have endured another week; and Andrew, besides, had told him of Caroline's illness. He walked to meet Rose, honestly intending to ask for his own, and wish her good-bye.
Rose saw him approach, and knew him in the distance. She was sitting on a lower branch of the aspen, that shot almost from the root, and stretched over the intervolving rays of light on the tremulous water. She could not move to meet him. She was not the Rose whom we have hitherto known. Love may spring in the bosom of a young girl, like Helper in the evening sky, a grey speck in a field of grey, and not be seen or known, till surely as the circle advances the faint planet gathers fire, and, coming nearer earth, dilates, and will and must be seen and known. When Evan lay like a dead man on the ground, Rose turned upon herself as the author of his death, and then she felt this presence within her, and her heart all day had talked to her of it, and was throbbing now, and would not be quieted. She could only lift her eyes and give him her hand; she could not speak. She thought him cold, and he was; cold enough to think that she and her cousin were not unlike in their manner, though not deep enough to reflect that it was from the same cause.
She was the first to find her wits: but not before she spoke did she feel, and start to feel, how long had been the silence, and that her hand was still in his.
"Why did you come out, Evan? It was not right."
"I came to speak to you. I shall leave early to-morrow, and may not see you alone."
"You are going?"
She checked her voice, and left the thrill of it wavering in him.
"Yes, Rose, I am going; I should have gone before."
"Evan!" she grasped his hand, and then timidly retained it. "You have not forgiven me? I see now. I did not think of any risk to you. I only wanted you to beat. I wanted you to be first and best. If you knew how I thank God for saving you! If you knew what my punishment would have been!"
Till her eyes were full she kept them on him, too deep in emotion to be conscious of it.
He could gaze on her tears coldly.
"I should be happy to take the leap any day for the prize you offered. I have come for that."
"For what, Evan?" But while she was speaking the colour mounted in her cheeks, and she went on rapidly: "Did you think it unkind of me not to come to nurse you. I must tell you, to defend myself. It was the Countess, Evan. She is offended with me—very justly, I dare say. She would not let me come. What could I do? I had no claim to come."
Rose was not aware of the import of her speech. Evan, though he felt more in it, and had some secret nerves set tingling and dancing, was not to be moved from his demand.
"Do you intend to withhold it, Rose?"
"Withhold what, Evan? Anything that you wish for is yours."
