“In the affirmative?” she whispered, coming nearer to him.

She knew that she had only to let her right shoulder slip under his left arm, and he would very soon proclaim himself her lover as ardently as might be wished.  Why did she hesitate to touch the blood of the man?  It was her fate never to have her great heart read aright.  Wilfrid could not know that generosity rather than iciness restrained her from yielding that one unknown kiss which would have given the final spring to passion in his breast.  He wanted the justification of his senses, and to run headlong blindly.  Had she nothing of a woman’s instinct?

“In the affirmative!” was his serene reply.

“That means “Yes.”  Her tone had become pleasantly soft.

“Yes, that means ‘Yes,’” said he.

She shut her eyes, murmuring, “How happy are those who hear that they are loved!” and opening them, all her face being red, “Say it!” she pleaded.  Her fingers fell upon his wrist.  “I have this weakness, Wilfrid; I wish to hear you say it.”

The flush of her face, and tremour of her fingers, told of an unimagined agitation hardly to be believed, though seen and felt.  Yet, still some sign, some shade of a repulsion in her figure, kept him as far from her as any rigid rival might have stipulated for.

The interrogation to the attentive heavens was partially framed in his mind, “How can I tell this woman I love her, without...” without putting his arm about her waist, and demonstrating it satisfactorily to himself as well as to her?  In other words, not so framed, “How, without that frenzy which shall make me forget whether it be so or not?”

He remained in his attitude, incapable of moving or speaking, but fancying, that possibly he was again to catch a glimpse of the vanished mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.  Her woman’s instinct warmed more and more, until, if she did not quite apprehend his condition, she at least understood that the pause was one preliminary to a man’s feeling himself a fool.

“Dear Wilfrid,” she whispered, “you think you are doubted.  I want to be certain that you think you have met the right woman to help you, in me.”

He passed through the loophole here indicated, and breathed.

“Yes, Charlotte, I am sure of that.  If I could be only half as worthy!  You are full of courage and unselfishness, and, I could swear, faithful as steel.”

“Thank you—­not dogs,” she laughed.  “I like steel.  I hope to be a good sword in your hand, my knight—­or shield, or whatever purpose you put me to.”

She went on smiling, and seeming to draw closer to him and throw down defences.

“After all, Wilfrid, the task of loving your good piece of steel won’t be less thoroughly accomplished because you find it difficult.  Sir, I do not admit any protestation.  Handsome faces, musical voices, sly manners, and methods that I choose not to employ, make the business easy to men.”