"When I saw you riding down the hill, I thought I had never seen any
girl so beautiful, so lovely--"
The colour rose slowly to her face, but died away again: the least vain
of women is moved when a man tells her she is beautiful--in his eyes,
at any rate.
"And when you spoke to me I thought I had never heard so sweet a voice;
and if I had, that there had never been one that I so longed to hear
again. You were not with me long, only a few minutes, but when I left
you and trumped over the hill to the inn I could not get you out of my
mind. I wondered who you were, and whether I should see you again." The
horses moved, and instinctively she looked over her shoulder towards
them.
"They will not go: they are quite quiet," he said. "Wait--ah, wait for
a few minutes! I have a feeling that if I let you go I shall not see
you again; and that would--that would be more than I could bear. That
night at the inn the landlord told me about you. Of course he had
nothing but praise and admiration for you--who would have any other?
But he told me of the lonely life you led, of the care you took of your
father, of your devotion and goodness; and the picture of you living at
the great, silent house, without friends or companions--well, it
haunted me! I could see it all so plainly--I, who am not usually quick
at seeing things. As a rule, I'm not impressed by women--Howard says I
am cold and bored--perhaps he's right; but I could not get you out of
my mind. I felt that I wanted to see you again."
He paused again, as if the state of mind he was describing was a puzzle
to himself--paused and frowned.
"I left the inn and started up the road--I suppose I wanted to get a
glimpse of the house in which you lived. Yes; that must have been it.
And then, all at once, I saw you. I remember the frock you wore that
night--you looked like an angel, a spirit standing there in the
moonlight, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Are you angry
with me for saying so? Don't be; for I've got to tell you everything,
and--and--it's difficult!"
He was silent a moment. Her head was still down-bent, her small white
hand hung at her side; she was quite motionless but for the slow,
rhythmic rise and fall of her bosom.