She raised her head and looked at him--a strange look from so young a girl. It was as if she were fighting against the subtle spell of his words, the demand for her love which shone in his eyes.

"No, I am not angry," she said at last; and her voice, though very low, was calm and unshaken.

He made a movement towards her, but she shrank back, only a little, but perceptibly, and he checked the movement, the desire to take her in his arms.

"You are not angry? Then--Ida--I may call you so?--you don't mind my loving you? Dearest, will you love me just a little in return? Wait!"

for she had shrunk again, this time more plainly. "Don't--don't answer without thinking! I know I have startled you, that I ought not to have spoken so soon, while you only know so little of me--you'd naturally say 'no,' and send me away. But if you think you can like me--learn to love me--"

He took her hand, hanging so temptingly near his own; but she drew it away.

"No; don't touch me!" she said, with a little catch in her voice. "I want to think--to understand." She paused for a moment, her eyes still seeking the distant hills, as if in their mysterious heights she might find something that should explain this great mystery, this wonderful thing that had happened to her. At last, with a singular gesture, so girlish, so graceful that it made him long still more intensely to take her in his arms, she said in a low voice:

"I do not know--No! I do not want you to touch me, please!" His hand fell to his side. "I can't answer you. It is so--so sudden! No one has ever spoken to me as you have done--"

He laughed from mere excess of joy, for her pure innocence, her unlikeness, in her ignorance of love and all pertaining to it, to the women he knew, made the charm of her well-nigh maddening. To think that he should be the first man to speak of love to her!

"I am not angry--ought I to be? Yes, I suppose so. We are almost strangers--have seen so little of each other."

"They say that love, all true love, comes at first sight," he said in his deep voice. "I used to laugh at the idea; but now I know it is true. I loved you the first time I met you, Ida!"

Her lip quivered and her brows knit.

"It seems so wonderful," she said, musingly, "I do not understand it.

The first time! We scarcely spoke--and I was almost angry with you for fishing in the Heron. And I did--did not think of you--"

He made a gesture, repudiating the mere idea.

"Is it likely! Why should you?" he said. "I was just an ordinary man, crossing your path for the first and perhaps the only time. Good heavens! there was no reason why you should give a thought to me, why I should linger in your mind for half a moment after I was out of your sight. But for me--Haven't I told you how beautiful you are, Ida! You are the loveliest, the sweetest.--But, even if you had not been--I mean it is not because you are so beautiful that I love you--" She looked at him with a puzzled, troubled look.

"No! I can't explain. See, now, there's not a look of yours, not a feature that I don't know by heart as if I'd learnt it. When I am away from you I can see you--see the way your hair cl.u.s.ters in soft little curls at your forehead, the long lashes sweeping your cheek, the--the trick your eyes have of turning from grey to violet--oh, I know your face by heart, and I _love_ it for its beauty; but if you were to lose it all, if you were not the loveliest creature G.o.d had ever made, it would make no difference. You would still be _you_: and it is you I want. Ida--give yourself to me--trust me! Oh, dearest, you don't know what love is! Let me teach you!"

Once again he got hold of her hand; and she let it remain in his grasp; but her quiescence did not mean yielding, and he knew it.

"No," she said, with a deep breath. "It is true that I do not know. And I am--afraid." A wan little smile that was more piteous than tears curved her lips: for "afraid" seemed strange coming from her, the fearless child of the hills and dales. "If--if I said 'yes'--Ah, but I do not!" she broke off as he made to draw her to him, and she shrank back. "I do not! I said 'if,' it would not be true; it would not be fair. For I do not know. I might be--sorry, after--after you had gone.

And it would be too late then."

"You're right," he a.s.sented, grimly. "Once I got you, no power on earth should make me let you go again."

Her lips quivered and her eyes drooped before his. How strange a thing this love was, that it should change a man so!

"I don't want to force you to answer," he said, after a pause. "Yes, I do! I'd give half the remainder of my life to hear you say the one word, 'yes.' But I won't. It's too--too precious. Ah, don't you understand! I want your love, your love, Ida!"

"Yes, I understand," she murmured. "And--and I would say it if--if I were sure. But I--yes, I am all confused. It is like a dream. I want to think, to ask myself if--if I can do what you want."

She put up her hand to her lips with a slight gesture, as if to keep them from trembling.

"I want to be alone to think of all--all you have told me."

Her gauntlet slipped from her hand, and he knelt on one knee and picked it up, and still kneeling, took both her hands in his. It did not occur to him to remember that the woman who hesitates is won; something in her girlish innocence, in her exquisitely sweet candour, filled him with awe.

"Dearest!" he said, in so low a voice that, the note of the curlew flying above them sounded loud and shrill by contrast. "Dearest!--for you are that to me!--I will not press you. I will be content to wait.

G.o.d knows you are right to hesitate! Your love is too great, too precious a thing to be given to me without thought. I'm not worthy to touch you--but I love you! I will wait. You shall think of all I have said; and, let your answer be what it may, I won't complain!

But--Ida--you mustn't forget that I love you with all my heart and soul!"

She looked down at his handsome face, the face over which her lips had hovered only a short time since, and her lips moved.

"You--you are good to me," she said, in a faintly troubled voice. "Yes, I know, I feel that. Perhaps I ought to say 'no!'"

"Don't!" he said, almost fiercely. "Wait! Let me see you again--you scarcely know me. Ah, Ida, what can I do, how can I win your love?"

She drew her hands from his with a deep breath.

"I--I will go now," she said. "Will you let me go--alone?"

He rose and went towards the horses. His own raised its head and seemed inclined to start, but stood uncertain and eventually remained quiet beside the chestnut. Stafford brought them to where Ida still stood, her eyes downcast, her face pale.

With his own bridle over his arm he put her into the saddle, resisting even in that supreme moment the almost irresistible desire to take her in his arms.

She murmured a "Thank you," as she slowly put on her left gauntlet. He drew the other from her, and as she looked at him questioningly, he put it to his lips and thrust it under his waistcoat, over his heart.

The colour flooded her face, but the blush was followed by the old look of trouble and doubt. She held out her ungloved right hand and he took it and held it for a moment, then raised it to his lips; but he did not kiss it.

"No!" he said, with stern repression. "I will take nothing--until you give it me."

She inclined her head the very slightest, as if she understood, as if she were grateful; then letting her eyes rest on his with an inscrutable look, she spoke softly to the horse and rode away, with Donald and Bess clamouring joyously after her, as if they had found the proceedings extremely trying.

Stafford flung his arm across his horse, and leaning against it, looked after her, his eyes fixed wistfully on the slight, graceful figure, until it was out of sight; then he gazed round him as if he were suddenly returning from a new, mysterious region to the old familiar world. Pa.s.sion's marvellous spell still held him, he was still throbbing with a half-painful ecstasy of her nearness, of the touch of her hand, the magic of her voice.

For the first time he was in love. In love with the most exquisite, the most wonderful of G.o.d's divine creatures. He knew, as he had said, that her answer meant life or death to him, the life of infinite, nameless joy, the death of life in death.

Was he going to lose her?

The very question set him trembling. He held out his quivering hand and looked at it, and set his teeth. Heaven and earth, how strange it was!

This girl had taken possession of him body and soul; every fibre of his being clamoured for her. To be near her, just to be able to see her, hear her, meant happiness; to be torn from her--

The sweat broke out on his forehead and he laughed grimly.

"And this is love!" he said, between his teeth. "Yes--and it's the only love of my life. G.o.d help me if you say 'no,' dearest! But you must not--you must not!"

CHAPTER XV.

Quite an hour after Stafford had started to meet Ida, Miss Falconer made her appearance, coming slowly down the stairs in the daintiest of morning frocks, with her auburn hair shining like old gold in the sunlight, and an expression of languor in her beautiful face which would have done credit to a hot-house lily.

She had slept the sleep of the just--the maid who had gone to wake her with her early cup of tea had been almost startled by the statuesqueness of her beauty, as she lay with her head pillowed on her snow-white arm and her wonderful hair streaming over the pillow--had suffered herself to be dressed with imperial patience, and looked--as Howard, who stood at the bottom of the stairs--said to himself, "like a queen of the Incas descending to her throne-room."

"Good-morning, Miss Falconer," he greeted her. "It's a lovely morning; you'll find it nicely aired." She smiled languidly.