This was Fernando’s first experience in love affairs, and he had no idea how different young ladies are at different times.  He had expected a far different scene from the one which was being enacted.  All day long he had buoyed himself up with an indistinct idea that she would certainly say, “Don’t go,” or “Don’t leave us,” or “Why do you go?” or “Why do you leave us?” or would give him some little encouragement of that sort.  He had even entertained the possibility of her bursting into tears, of her throwing herself into his arms, or falling down in a fainting fit, without previous word or sign; but any approach to such a line of conduct as this was evidently so far from her thoughts, that he could only look at her in silent wonder.  The hated English rival had won her heart, and she was even glad he was going; yet it was so hard to give her up.

Morgianna, in the meanwhile, turned to the corners of her apron and measured the sides, and smoothed out the wrinkles, and was as silent as he.  At last, after a long pause, he said good-bye.

“Good-bye,” answered Morgianna with as pleasant a smile as if he were only going for a row on the water and would return after supper; “good-bye.”

“Come,” said Fernando, putting out his hands, “Morgianna, dear Morgianna, let us not part like this.  I love you dearly, with all my heart and soul, with as much sincerity and truth as man ever loved woman.  I am only a poor student; but in this new world every thing is possible.  You have it in your power to make me a grand and noble man, or crush from this heart every ambitious hope.  You are wealthy, beautiful, admired, loved by everybody and happy;—­may you ever be so!  Heaven forbid I should ever make you otherwise; but give me one word of comfort.  Say something kind to me.  I have no right to expect it of you, I know; but I ask it because I love you, and I shall treasure the slightest word from you all through my life.  Morgianna, dearest, have you nothing to say to me?”

No, nothing.  Morgianna was a coquette by nature, and a spoilt child.  She had no notion of being carried off by storm in this way.  Fernando had no business to be going away.  Besides, if he really loved her, why did he not fall on his knees like lovers in romance or on the stage, and tug wildly at his cravat, or talk in a wild, poetic manner?

“I have said good-bye twice,” said Morgianna.  “Take your arm away, or I will call some one.”

“I will not reproach you,” Fernando sadly answered.  “It’s no doubt my fault,” he added with a sigh.  “I have thought sometimes that you did not quite despise me; but I was a fool to do so.  Every one must, who has seen the life I have led of late—­you most of all, for it was he at whose life I aimed.  God bless you!”

He was gone, actually gone.  She waited a little while, thinking he would return, peeped out of the door, looked down the broad carriage drive as well as the increasing darkness would allow, saw a hastily retreating shadow melt into the general gloom, came in again, waited a little longer, then went up to her room, bolted herself in, threw herself on her bed and cried as if her heart would break.