for his having taken such a view of
the case; while, as to his prospects, he had frankly confessed that he
was, for the present, unacknowledged by the Squire. So long, in fact, as
he could keep up the pretense of influence, either present or
contingent, at Crompton, he felt his position with Trevethick tolerably
secure. In all this scheme of dark deceit his love for Harry was
interwoven like a golden thread, and amidst all his plots and plans her
glorious face would suddenly rise unbidden, and charm him from them. He
had long since resolved to win her, but the late avowal of her love for
him, and now his partial success to gain her father's favor, seemed to
have made her his own already. How beautiful she had looked that day
upon the tower, with the sunlight on her hair! How fresh and guileless
were her ways! Her very weaknesses were lovable, and the cause of love.
How touching was her simple faith in omens, and how pleasant to combat
it, his arm about her dainty waist, as though to protect her from the
shadow of harm! How pitiful her fear of her gruff father, and of this
Cornish Solomon; and how sweet to calm it, kissing her tears away! Once
more his loving arms embraced her--once more his lips touched her warm
cheeks--when a sudden noise awakened him from his dream of bliss.

The parlor fire had long gone out. It was warm for the time of year; but
had it been otherwise he would not have replenished it. The candles,
too, had burned out, and the moon-beams were streaming through the
window; but had it been dark he would scarce have been aware of it. The
house had long ago been hushed in repose, and yet Richard felt certain
that he had heard a movement in the passage.

A stealthy step, yet not that of thief or burglar; a fairy footfall,
rather, which was music to his ear. His heart leaped up to tell him that
on the other side of the door was Harry Trevethick. He held his breath,
and trembled--not for fear. Was it possible that, knowing he was sitting
there alone, she had come down of her own choice to bear him company?
Had her father told her something--some glad tidings which she could not
keep from her lover even for a night? Or, filled with sweet dreams of
him, as he of her, had she risen in her sleep, and been drawn
involuntarily toward him by the loadstone of love? But--hark! The bolt
that fastened the house-door was softly drawn, and the latch gently
lifted. What _could_ that mean? Why was she thus going forth alo