Then Fate, who had interfered so much in his affairs that matters had been brought to this pass, interfered again with a kinder motive. Just as Rupert was wondering how he was to get through the long night without receiving human sympathy, there was a tapping at the right-hand window of the room, which brought him to his feet. In the stillness of the library, the sound was so unexpected and imperative that even Hendle's steady nerves were unstrung for the moment. With an effort he pulled himself together, and went to the window to lift it and see who had made the signal. Through the glass he saw Dorinda standing on the terrace in the luminous summer night, and she nodded smilingly to him when he lifted the sash.
"Why didn't you go to the door?" asked Rupert, leaning out, and more astonished by her unexpected appearance than he would admit.
"I don't want that prying Mrs. Beatson to see me," replied Miss Mallien, advancing toward the window, the sill of which was so low that she could very easily step over it. "I don't want her to know that I am here. Help me in, Rupert. No!" she suddenly stepped back. "Better come out and join me in the garden. I have much to say to you, and I don't want to risk Mrs. Beatson listening at the door."
"You never did like her," said Hendle, vaulting through the open window onto the terrace. "But why do you suspect her of eavesdropping?"
"My father has told me what she told him," rejoined the girl calmly. "It is for that reason that I have come over."
Rupert took her arm, and they descended the shallow steps to the second terrace, and then gained the lawn, which was dry and warm to the feet. For a few minutes the Squire said nothing, but guided her down a narrow path, which wound deviously to a kind of glade, wherein stood an ancient sundial. Near this and against a dense shrubbery stood a low marble seat on which he placed the girl. Then he sat down beside her and, still remaining silent, strove to collect his scattered thoughts. Dorinda did not hurry him into speech by making any further observation. She had said all that was necessary, and the next remark must be made by her lover. So the two sat quietly under the calm beauty of the stars, breathing the cool fragrance of the night, and the myriad odors of the dreaming flowers. There was no moon, yet the light of the dying day, which still lingered, revealed the garden in a kind of warm twilight. It was such an evening as would have inspired Romeo to venture into the magical garden of Juliet; and love-talk was the only language fitted for such an hour and scene. Yet the stern necessities of the hour demanded that this bachelor and maid should talk on more prosaic matters. A sad waste of time and opportunity, to be sure, as both regretfully thought; but there was no help for it, if future peace was to be insured. Only by the two solving the problems which Fate had set, could happiness come.