"Oh, yes, but not that way; that is the way the monster went!" quivered Zoe.
"Oh, he has had enough of us."
"But I have had too much of him. Take me some other road--a hundred miles round. How I tremble!""So you do. Take my arm.--No, putting the tips of your fingers on it is no use; take it really--you want support. Be courageous, now--we are very near home."Zoe trembled, and cried a little, to conclude the incident, but walked bravely home on Uxmoor's arm.
In the hall at Somerville Villa she saw him change color, and insisted on his taking some port wine.
"I shall be very glad," said he.
A decanter was brought. He filled a large tumbler and drank it off like water.
This was the first intimation he gave Zoe that he was in pain, and his nerves hard tried; nor did she indeed arrive at that conclusion until he had left her.
Of course, she carried all this to Aunt Maitland. That lady was quite moved by the adventure. She sat up in bed, and listened with excitement and admiration. She descanted on Lord Uxmoor's courage and chivalry, and congratulated Zoe that such a pearl of manhood had fallen at her feet.
"Why, child," said she, "surely, after this, you will not hesitate between this gentleman and a beggarly adventurer, who has nothing, not even the courage of a man. Turn your back on all such rubbish, and be the queen of the county. I'd be content to die to-morrow if I could see you Countess of Uxmoor.""You shall live, and see it, dear aunt," said Zoe, kissing her.
"Well," said Miss Maitland, "if anything can cure me, that will. And really," said she, "I feel better ever since that brave fellow began to bring you to your senses."Admiration and gratitude being now added to esteem, Zoe received Lord Uxmoor next day with a certain timidity and half tenderness she had never shown before; and, as he was by nature a rapid wooer, he saw his chance, and stayed much longer than usual, and at last hazarded a hope that he might be allowed to try and win her heart.
Thereupon she began to fence, and say that love was all folly. He had her esteem and her gratitude, and it would be better for both of them to confine their sentiments within those rational bounds.
"That I cannot do," said Uxmoor; "so I must ask your leave to be ambitious. Let me try and conquer your affection.""As you conquered the bull?"
"Yes; only not so rudely, nor so quickly, I'll be bound.""Well, I don't know why I should object. I esteem you more than anybody in the world. You are my beau ideal of a man. If you can _make_ me love you, all the better for me. Only, I am afraid you cannot.""May I try?"
"Yes," said Zoe, bushing carnation.
"May I come every day?"
"Twice a day, if you like."
"I think I shall succeed--in time."
"I hope you may."
Then he kissed her hand devotedly--the first time in his life--and went away on wings.
Zoe flew up to her aunt Maitland, flushed and agitated. "Aunt, I am as good as engaged to him. I have said such unguarded things. I'm sure _he_will understand it that I consent to receive his addresses as my lover.
Not that I really said so."
"I hope," said Aunt Maitland, "that you have committed yourself somehow or other, and cannot go back.""I think I have. Yes; it is all over. I cannot go back now."Then she burst out crying. Then she was near choking, and had to smell her aunt's salts, while still the tears ran fast.
Miss Maitland received this with perfect composure. She looked on them as the last tears of regret given to a foolish attachment at the moment of condemning it forever. She was old, and had seen these final tears shed by more than one loving woman just before entering on her day of sunshine.
And now Zoe must be alone, and vent her swelling heart. She tied a handkerchief round her head and darted into the garden. She went round and round it with fleet foot and beating pulses.
The sun began to decline, and a cold wind to warn her in. She came, for the last time, to a certain turn of the gravel walk, where there was a little iron gate leading into the wooded walk from the meadows.
At that gate she found a man. She started back, and leaned against the nearest tree, with her hands behind her.
It was Edward Severne--all in black, and pale as death; but not paler than her own face turned in a moment.
Indeed, they looked at each other like two ghosts.