She had no voice.  Wilfrid’s words at length made way impetuously.

’I thought I could wait longer, and try in the meanwhile to win your kind thoughts for me; but I dare not part from you for so long, leaving it a mere chance that you will come back.  I must say to you what it means, the hope of seeing you again.  All the other desires of my life are lost in that.  You are my true self, for which I shall seek in vain whilst I am away from you.  Can you give me anything—­a promise of kind thought—­a hope—­to live upon till I see you?’

‘I cannot come back.’

But for the intense stillness he could not have caught the words; they were sighed rather than spoken.

‘Because I have said this?—­Emily!’

He saw the white shape of her hand resting upon the table, and held it in his own, that exquisite hand which he had so often longed to touch; how cold it was! yet how soft, living!  She made no effort to draw it away.

‘I cannot say now what I wish to,’ he spoke hurriedly.  ’I must see you to-morrow—­you will not refuse?  I must see you!  You are often out very early; I shall be at the hollow, where we talked yesterday, early, at seven o’clock—­you will come?  If the morning is not fine, then the day after.  Emily, you will meet me?’

‘I will meet you.’

He touched her fingers with his lips, took the paper, and hastened back to the house.  His absence had not seemed long:  it was only of five minutes.  Reaching the open windows, he did not enter at once, but stood there and called to those within to come and admire the night; he felt his face hot and flushed.

‘What is there remarkable about the night?’ asked Mr. Athel, sauntering forwards.

‘Come and look at this glorious moon, Miss Redwing,’ Wilfrid exclaimed, once more with the natural friendliness of his habitual tone to her.

‘It seems to have put you into excellent spirits,’ remarked Mrs. Rossall, as, followed by Beatrice, she approached the window.  ’Have you found the “Spectator?” that’s the point.’

Wilfrid continued speaking in a raised voice, for it was just possible, he thought, that Emily might come this way round to enter, and he wished her to be apprised of their presence.  All went back into the room after a few moments, and, as the air had grown cooler, the windows were closed.  As Wilfrid seated himself in a dusky part of the room, he noticed that Beatrice was regarding him steadily.  She had not spoken since his return, and did not do so till she presently rose to say good-night.  To Wilfrid she used no form of words, merely giving him her hand; that other had been so cold, how hot this was!

She laughed as she turned from him.

‘What is the source of amusement?’ inquired Mr. Athel, who was standing by with his hands upon his hips.

‘Indeed I don’t know,’ returned Beatrice, laughing again slightly.  ’I sometimes laugh without cause.’