ithout waiting for Mrs. Ashleigh's answer,
Mrs. Poyntz drew me into the more sequestered walk that belted the lawn;
and when we were out of Mrs. Ashleigh's sight and hearing, said,--

"From what you have now seen of Lilian Ashleigh, do you still desire to
gain her as your wife?"

"Still? Ob, with an intensity proportioned to the fear with which I now
dread that she is about to pass away from my eyes--from my life!"

"Does your judgment confirm the choice of your heart? Reflect before you
answer."

"Such selfish judgment as I had before I knew her would not confirm
but oppose it. The nobler judgment that now expands all my reasonings,
approves and seconds my heart. No, no; do not smile so sarcastically.
This is not the voice of a blind and egotistical passion. Let me
explain myself if I can. I concede to you that Lilian's character is
undeveloped; I concede to you, that amidst the childlike freshness and
innocence of her nature, there is at times a strangeness, a mystery,
which I have not yet traced to its cause. But I am certain that the
intellect is organically as sound as the heart, and that intellect and
heart will ultimately--if under happy auspices--blend in that felicitous
union which constitutes the perfection of woman. But it is because
she does, and may for years, may perhaps always, need a more devoted,
thoughtful care than natures less tremulously sensitive, that my
judgment sanctions my choice; for whatever is best for her is best for
me. And who would watch over her as I should?"

"You have never yet spoken to Lilian as lovers speak?"

"Oh, no, indeed."

"And, nevertheless, you believe that your affection would not be
unreturned?"

"I thought so once; I doubt now,--yet, in doubting, hope. But why do you
alarm me with these questions? You, too, forebode that in this visit I
may lose her forever?"

"If you fear that, tell her so, and perhaps her answer may dispel your
fear."

"What! now, already, when she has scarcely known me a month. Might I not
risk all if too premature?"

"There is no almanac for love. With many women love is born the moment
they know they are beloved. All wisdom tells us that a moment once gone
is irrevocable. Were I in your place, I should feel that I approached a
moment that I must not lose. I have said enough; now I shall rejoin Mrs.
Ashleigh."

"Stay--tell me first what Lady Haughton's letter really contains to
prompt the advice with which you so transport, and yet so