"Again here!" she said, on the day we have spoken of, in the old ruin. "Do you know this must terminate soon? Dora will return, and Mr. Skaife; and when he is here, Aunt Dorcas generally accompanies me, with him to escort us."
"But not riding. She is not a horsewoman, you say?"
"True; but Mr. Skaife, at her request, becomes my companion, then Dora will be with me every day."
"Do you mean, Miss Dalzell, that I am never to see you?" and something like a sigh escaped him.
"Oh! I hope not, indeed. I should feel grieved at so sad a termination to our many pleasant hours together; but what can be done to smooth our rugged path, for we cannot disguise from ourselves that a very rugged one lies between us?"
"I never forget that! Would to heaven I could remove it! Time may--_will_, I should say," he cried, with energy; "but, to accomplish that glorious end, I must toil--toil--toil, and far away from this place, and----" he was going to say "you," he substituted "Yorkshire."
"'Tis very hard that, when we have known one another from childhood----"
"Well, then," she continued, "from _my_ childhood, that we should be debarred from meeting freely; but why do you always correct me when I say _our_ childhood? why are you so very anxious to make me remember that you are so much older than myself?"
"How do you mean? Where would be the harm?"
He looked at her so deeply, that her eyes fell beneath his glance, and she blushed.
"Where is your sketch-book?" he hastily said, looking away from her glowing face; but his eyes went lingeringly to other things.
"You have it in your hand! What are you thinking of, Mi--, Mr. Tremenhere?" she hastily substituted.
The sketch-book fell from his hand, and he grasped hers involuntarily, and the deep, dark eye grew full of passion, as it fixed itself on her face. "Call me," he whispered, "by that half-uttered name, and I will tell you why I always recall to my memory our difference of age."
But she was silent, trembling, and incapable of speech.
"_Do_ say it; pray, utter it this once, and I will dare to believe you will not forget me--a poor, lonely man--when I go."
"I shall never forget you, Miles Tremenhere," she answered, gravely looking up. There was no blush or hesitation: there was only truth, and its ever accompanying fearlessness.