“Is it at an end?”

“Now? with you? my darling Clara! indeed at an end, or could I have opened my inmost heart to you!  Could I have spoken of myself so unreservedly that in part you know me as I know myself!  Oh, but would it have been possible to enclose you with myself in that intimate union? so secret, unassailable!”

“You did not speak to her as you speak to me?”

“In no degree.”

“What could have! . . .”  Clara checked the murmured exclamation.

Sir Willoughby’s expoundings on his latest of texts would have poured forth, had not a footman stepped across the lawn to inform him that his builder was in the laboratory and requested permission to consult with him.

Clara’s plea of a horror of the talk of bricks and joists excused her from accompanying him.  He had hardly been satisfied by her manner, he knew not why.  He left her, convinced that he must do and say more to reach down to her female intelligence.

She saw young Crossjay, springing with pots of jam in him, join his patron at a bound, and taking a lift of arms, fly aloft, clapping heels.  Her reflections were confused.  Sir Willoughby was admirable with the lad.  “Is he two men?” she thought; and the thought ensued, “Am I unjust?” She headed a run with young Crossjay to divert her mind.

CHAPTER VIII

A RUN WITH THE TRUANT; A WALK WITH THE MASTER

The sight of Miss Middleton running inflamed young Crossjay with the passion of the game of hare and hounds.  He shouted a view-halloo, and flung up his legs.  She was fleet; she ran as though a hundred little feet were bearing her onward smooth as water over the lawn and the sweeps of grass of the park, so swiftly did the hidden pair multiply one another to speed her.  So sweet was she in her flowing pace, that the boy, as became his age, translated admiration into a dogged frenzy of pursuit, and continued pounding along, when far outstripped, determined to run her down or die.  Suddenly her flight wound to an end in a dozen twittering steps, and she sank.  Young Crossjay attained her, with just breath enough to say:  “You are a runner!”

“I forgot you had been having your tea, my poor boy,” said she.

“And you don’t pant a bit!” was his encomium.

“Dear me, no; not more than a bird.  You might as well try to catch a bird.”

Young Crossjay gave a knowing nod.  “Wait till I get my second wind.”

“Now you must confess that girls run faster than boys.”

“They may at the start.”

“They do everything better.”

“They’re flash-in-the-pans.”

“They learn their lessons.”

“You can’t make soldiers or sailors of them, though.”

“And that is untrue.  Have you never read of Mary Ambree? and Mistress
Hannah Snell of Pondicherry?  And there was the bride of the celebrated
William Taylor.  And what do you say to Joan of Arc?  What do you say to
Boadicea?  I suppose you have never heard of the Amazons.”