dark circles came round my eyes — I grew worn and tired. I am not nearly so nice to look at as at that time when we used to meet in the school, nor so healthy either … I think I was handsome then." At this she smiled faintly, and raised her eyes to his, with a sparkle of their old mischief in them.
"And now and ever," he whispered.
"How innocent we were then! Fancy, Egbert, our unreserve would have been almost wrong if we had known the canons of behavior we learnt afterwards. Ah! who at that time would have thought I was to yield to what I did? I wish now that I had met you at the door in Chevron Square, as I promised. But I feared to — I had promised Lord Bretton — and I that evening received a lecturing from my father, who saw you at the concert — he was in a seat further behind. And then, when I heard of your great success, how I wished I had held out a little longer! for I knew your hard labor had been on my account. When we met again last night it seemed awful, horrible — what I had done. Yet how could I tell you plainly? When I got indoors I felt I should die of misery, and I went to my father, and said I could not be married to-morrow. Oh, how angry he was, and what a dreadful scene occurred!" She covered her face with her hands.
"My poor Geraldine!" said Egbert, supporting her with his arm.
"When I was in my room this came into my mind, 'Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay.' I could bear it no longer. I was determined not to marry him, and to see you again, whatever came of it. I dressed, and came down-stairs noiselessly, and slipped out. I knew where your house was, and I hastened here."
"You will never marry him now?"
"Never. Yet what can I do? Oh! what can I do? If I go back to my father — no, I cannot go back now — it is too late. But if they should find me, and drag me back, and compel me to perform my promise!"
"There is one simple way to prevent that, if, beloved Geraldine, you will agree to adopt it."
"Yes."
"By becoming my wife, at once. We would return to London as soon as the ceremony was over; and there you may defy them all."
"Oh, Egbert! I have thought of this —"
"You will have no reason to regret it. Perhaps I can introduce you to as intellectual, if odd-mannered and less aristocratic, society than that you have been accustomed to."
"Yes, I know it, — I reflected on it before I came . . . I will be your wife," she replied tenderly. "I have come to you, and to you I will cling."
Egbert kissed her lips then for the first time in his life. He reflected for some time, if that process could be called reflection which was accompanied with so much excitement.
"The parson of your parish would perhaps refuse to marry us, even if we could get to the church secretly," he said, with a cloud on his brow. "That's a difficulty."
"Oh, don't take me there!" I cannot go to Tollamore. I shall be seen, or we shall be parted. Don't take me there."
"No, no; I will not, love. I was only thinking. Are you known in this parish?"
"Well, yes; not, however, to the clergyman. He is a young man — old Mr. Keene is dead, you know."
"Then I can manage it." Egbert clasped her in his arms in the delight of his heart. "Now this is our course. I am first going to the surrogate' s, and then further; and while I am gone you must stay in this house absolutely alone, and lock yourself in for safety. There is food in the house, and wine in that cupboard; you must stay here in hiding till I come back. It is now five o'clock. I will be here again at latest by eleven. If anybody knocks, remain silent, and the house will be supposed empty, as it lately has been so for a long time. My old servant and waitress must not come here to-day — I will manage that. I will light a fire, which will have burnt down by daylight, so that the room will be warmed for you. Sit there while I set about it."
He lit the fire, placed on the table all the food the house afforded, and went away.
CHAPTER VI.
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell;
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
In half an hour Egbert returned, leading a horse.
"I have borrowed this from an old neighbor," he said, "and I have told the woman who waits upon me that I am doing on a journey, and shall lock up the house to-day, so that she will not be wanted. And now, dearest, I want you to lend me something."
