Clasping the gorgeous chain about her neck, his arm again gently encircled her waist, her head drooped upon her bosom—­she did not speak—­she appeared scarcely to feel.  For a moment, life and all its pulses seemed resolutely at a stand; and with some apprehensions, the youth drew her to his bosom, and spoke with words full of tenderness.  She made no answer to his immediate speech; but her hands, as if unconsciously, struck the spring which locked the casket that hung upon the chain, and the miniature lay open before her, the dim light of the moon shining down upon it.  She reclosed it suddenly, and undoing it from the chain, placed it with a trembling hand in his own; and with an effort of calm and quiet playfulness, reminded him of the unintended gift.  He received it, but only to place it again in her hand, reuniting it to the chain.

“Keep it,” said he, “Miss Munro—­keep it until I return to reclaim it.  It will be as safe in your hands—­much safer, indeed, than in mine.  She whose features it describes will not chide, that, at a moment of peril, I place it in the care of one as gentle as herself.”

Her eyes were downcast, as, again receiving it, she inquired with a girlish curiosity, “Is her name Edith, Mr. Colleton, of whom these features are the likeness!”

The youth, surprised by the question, met the inquiry with another.

“How know you?—­wherefore do you ask?”

She saw his astonishment, and with a calm which had not, during the whole scene between them, marked her voice or demeanor, she replied instantly:—­

“No matter—­no matter, sir.  I know not well why I put the question—­certainly with no object, and am now more than answered.”

The youth pondered over the affair in silence for a few moments, but desirous of satisfying the curiosity of the maiden, though on a subject and in relation to one of whom he had sworn himself to silence—­wondering, at the same time, not less at the inquiry than the knowledge which it conveyed, of that which he had locked up, as he thought, in the recesses of his own bosom—­was about to reply, when a hurried step, and sudden noise from the upper apartment of the house, warned them of the dangers of further delay.  The maiden interrupted with rapid tones the speech he was about to commence:—­

“Fly, sir—­fly.  There is no time to be lost.  You have lingered too long already.  Do not hesitate longer—­you have heard the determination of Rivers—­this disappointment will only make him more furious.  Fly, then, and speak not.  Take the left road at the fork:  it leads to the river.  It is the dullest, and if they pursue, they will be most likely to fall into the other.”

“Farewell, then, my good, my protecting angel—­I shall not forget you—­have no apprehensions for me—­I have now but few for myself.  Yet, ere I go—­” and he bent down, and before she was conscious of his design, his lips were pressed warmly to her pale and beautiful forehead.  “Be not vexed—­chide me not,” he murmured—­“regard me as a brother—­if I live I shall certainly become one.  Farewell!”