“Walter,” she exclaimed in a slow, changed voice, after a brief silence, “there is a reason.  Please do not ask me to tell you—­because—­well, because I can’t.”  And, drawing a long breath, she added, “All I beg of you is to remain patient and trust in me.  I love you; and I love no other man.  Surely that should be, for you, all-sufficient.  I am yours, and yours only.”

In an instant he had folded her slight, dainty form in his arms.  The young man was satisfied, perfectly satisfied.

They strolled on together through the wood, and out across the open corn-fields.  The moon had come forth again, the storm-clouds had passed, and the night was perfect.  Though she was trying against her will to hold aloof from Walter Murie, yet she loved him with all her heart and soul.  Many letters she had addressed to him in his travels had remained unanswered.  This had, in a measure, piqued her.  But she was in ignorance that much of his correspondence and hers had fallen into the hands of her ladyship and been destroyed.

As they walked on, talking as lovers will, she was thinking deeply, and full of regret that she dared not tell the truth to this man who, loving her so fondly, would, she knew, be prepared to make any sacrifice for her sake.  Suppose he knew the truth!  Whatever sacrifice he made would, alas! not alter facts.  If she confessed, he would only hate her.  Ah, the tragedy of it all!  Therefore she held her silence; she dared not speak lest she might lose his love.  She had no friend in whom she could confide.  From her own father, even, she was compelled to hide the actual facts.  They were too terrible.  What would he think if the bitter truth were exposed?

The man at her side, tall, brave, strong—­a lover whom she knew many girls coveted—­believed that he was to marry her.  But, she told herself within her grief-stricken heart, such a thing could never be.  A barrier stood between them, invisible, yet nevertheless one that might for ever debar their mutual happiness.

An involuntary sigh escaped her, and he inquired the reason.  She excused herself by saying that it was owing to the exertion of walking over the rough path.  Therefore they halted, and, with the bright summer moonbeams falling upon her beautiful countenance, he kissed her passionately upon the lips again and yet again.

They remained together for over an hour, moving along slowly, heedless of where their footsteps led them; heedless, too, of being seen by any of the keepers who, at night, usually patrolled the estate.  Their walk, however, lay at the farther end of the glen, in the coverts remote from the house and nearer the high-road; therefore there was but little danger of being observed.

Many were the pledges of affection they exchanged before parting.  On Walter’s part they were fervent and passionate, but on the part of his idol they were, alas! only the pretence of a happiness which she feared could never be permanent.