a moment, and leaned upon the
landmark, as if from fatigue, weakness, or agitation. The light was
now dim, but it was not yet dark; and in a moment or two she saw a
figure appear suddenly in the lane before her.
It advanced rapidly towards her, and she pressed her hand tight upon
her heart. One might have heard it throbbing. The gentleman came on
with a pace like lightning, and held out his hand towards her. She
gave him her hand, but turned away her head; and after gazing on her
for a moment, he drew her gently to his bosom, saying, "One kiss at
least, my Caroline."
She did not refuse it, and he pressed her warmly to his heart. There
was a moment's silence, and then his arms relaxed their hold, and he
exclaimed, "Oh Heaven!"
He then drew her arm within his, and walked on with her.
"Oh, Caroline," he said at length, "would that you did know how I
love you!"
"If I did know, Sherbrooke," she replied, "that you really did love
me, it would make me far, far happier than I am. But how can I
believe it, Sherbrooke? how can I believe it?"
"Is it," he demanded, "is it because I have asked you to conceal our
marriage a little longer? Is it for that reason that you doubt my
love? Is it for that reason that you have come over to England,
risking all and everything, affecting my fate in ways that you have
no idea of? Is it for this, Caroline?"
There was a pause for several minutes, and at length she answered,--
"Not entirely. There may have been many reasons, Sherbrooke, joined
therewith. There were many that I stated in my letters to you. There
were others that you might have imagined. Was it unnatural that I
should wish to see my husband? Was it unnatural I should believe that
he would be glad to see me? As I told you, the circumstances were
changed; my father was dead; I had none to protect me in France; the
Lady Helen was coming to England. When she was gone, I was left quite
alone. But oh, Sherbrooke, tell me, tell me, what cause have I had to
believe that you love me? Have you not neglected me? Have you not
forgotten me? Have you not----"
"Never, never, Caroline!" he cried, vehemently--"in my wildest
follies, in my rashest acts, I have thought of you and loved you. I
have remembered you with affection, and with grief, and with
tenderness. Memory, sad memory, has come upon me in the midst of the
maddest efforts for gaiety, and cast me into a fit of deep, anxious,
sorrowful, repentant, remorseful thought, which I could not shake
off: it seemed as if so