CHRISTIAN FORD'S TROUBLES.
139
“Farewell, Robert!”
He dashed aside her hand, and went away without a word, completely overpowered by the insanity of passion which had rushed upon him.
Christian Ford stood for an instant like one stunned by a sudden blow, then she started for¬ ward, and his name, uttered in a tone in which all her long repressed tenderness broke forth, died faintly on her lips,
“Robert! Robert!”
But he was far beyond the sound of her voice, and already the echo of his hurried footsteps was lost in the distance. Christian buried her face in her hands, and a shudder of pain swayed her form to and fro. At length her hands fell to her side, she looked up without a trace of tears upon her white face, and murmured,
“It is over—better to part thus; I can bear it!”
The full moon had come up while she stood there; a soft, indistinct light displaced the shadows which had lain so heavily around, tinging the waters with silver, and shining broad and clear over the distant hill-tops.
There was the sound of approaching footsteps; for an instant Christian trembled, but her heart had deceived her; when she raised her eyes, she saw a tall woman approaching the spot where she stood. The moonlight fell full upon that cold, proud face, and Christian recognised Robert Gray's mother. The girl stood quite still till the lady came close to her, and said quietly,
“Good evening. Miss Ford; I see this lovely night has tempted you out also. I have strayed so far from home that I grew quite startled, and was really glad when I saw you standing here.”
Christian bowed, and remained quietly looking at her with an expression which showed how useless were all those shallow artifices.
“I leave this pretty spot tomorrow,” continued Mrs. Gray, “and I quite regret to go. I am sure I shall miss you very much.”
“You are very kind.”
“I hope, although my poor health has pre¬ vented my seeing as much of you as I could have wished, that you will remember me as a friend.”
“Mrs. Gray honors me by the desire.”
“I wish I might really speak to you as a friend,” continued the lady, after a little nervous pause; “I really wish I might, Miss Ford.”
“I shall only feel gratified by any expression of interest.”
“Thank you, my dear,” she answered, putting out her hand and taking Christian’s cold, unresisting fingers in her clasp.
“You see you are so sensible a girl that one feels safe in being perfectly frank with you, and has no fear of giving offence. Now I want to
talk to you like an old woman of the world— may I?”
“I am listening, Mrs. Gray.”
“I knew you would. I always say you are the only sensible unmarried woman I ever knew;” and she pressed the icy fingers very tenderly. “Perhaps what I am going to say will surprise you. The truth is, that silly boy of mine has taken a fancy that he is dead in love with you—has he ventured to tell you so?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Oh, the little dunce, how you must have laughed! I have never said a word to him on the subject, certain that you would manage him better than I could, but I did not quite like to go away without some explanation.”
“Any that I can give, madam, I am ready to offer.”
“Has he been here to say good-bye?”
“He left me only a few moments since.”
“Indeed! heart-broken, no doubt! Oh, dear, he falls in love so very often; it is really a great trial—and few girls are like you. Now Robert is only nineteen, and you are——”
“Almost an old maid; you need not hesitate.”
“Oh, my dear, no, no! But no man should have a wife older than himself! Besides, Robert has idle, expensive habits, which quite frighten me; and I am not as rich a woman as people suppose; he must marry money—it’s the only thing for him, don’t you see, my love?”
“Mr. Gray’s mother is the best judge.”
“Of course!—your good sense again! But what I want is this—now you won’t be angry?”
“Pray go on.”
“I knew perfectly well that your feelings were not interested,” continued the woman, resolutely averting her eyes from the pale face, “so I thought it best for all to have a frank understanding. Now I hope Robert will go away convinced that he has nothing to hope. You may even be harsh; don’t spare his feelings, for you may be quite sure that if we come here next summer, you and I shall laugh at him on account of some new love.”
Christian did not wince under that cruel probing of her wound; she would have died then and there sooner than have given any sign.
“Perhaps you will see him in the morning?”
“It would be useless.”
“That will be best—you are always right. I am so much obliged to you, dear Miss Ford; always consider me your friend—now do, I beg. Dear me, how late it is! I am so glad I chanced to meet you; my mind is quite at ease now.”
“I am sorry it should have been disturbed.”
“Oh, you mistake,” she said, striving to recall
