It was Dexie who broke the silence. In a tone of the utmost contempt she said, as she waved him aside:

"Stand back out of my way and let me pa.s.s," and she moved towards the window.

"Not yet, Dexie, just hear me for a moment. I want to speak to you."

"Not a word, sir, let me pa.s.s at once! How dare you keep me here against my will!"

His tone of entreaty changed to command.

"Because it is my will that you shall hear me," and his face grew paler as he spoke. "For once you shall listen to what I have to say. I can be silent no longer."

"Well, if you must unburden your mind, talk to the chimney there; it will care quite as much for what you have to say as I. It is quite in keeping with the estimate I had formed for you, to keep me here a prisoner on the house-top. Stand aside at once and let me enter the house."

"Dexie," he said more firmly, "I am not going to let you pa.s.s until I tell you what I came here to say. Is it not enough that I am to lose the sight of your bright face for such long, weary weeks, that I must be refused these few moments--moments that I must perforce steal from you if I am to get them at all? Do I need to tell you what a blank my life will be while you are away; and not only a blank, but a fearful dream of blasted hopes and weary longing? Oh, Dexie, take away some of the bitterness that your absence will cause, by giving me, at least, the promise that you will not forget me while you are away."

"Not forget you, indeed!" she said in a rising voice. "I may forgive you this insult, but you may be sure that I will do my best to forget you, just as quickly as I can. I am not given to remembering unpleasant things."

"Dexie, do not talk so bitterly; you do not mean it; say you do not, Dexie?" he said, entreatingly. "You are vexed at being kept here against your will; come, then, let us go inside and talk it over quietly," he added, persuasively, and he reached for her hand.

"But I _do_ mean every word of it," and she stepped back out of his reach, "and if you do not wish to hear me express myself more plainly, I'd advise you to open the window at once."

"Hear me a moment, Dexie. I know you are prejudiced against me on account of Gussie; but give me time to prove that I am in earnest when I say that it is you that I love," and her hands were instantly imprisoned in his strong clasp, "and I love you, Dexie, with the intense love that a strong man feels for the one woman who is all the world to him, a love that is not to be compared with the boyish feeling that Lancy Gurney has for you. Give me some hope, Dexie, that sometime in the future, when you have rightly considered the matter, you will look on me with a more kindly feeling in your heart than you are willing to own to to-night."

Dexie freed her hands by a great effort. His words had flowed like a torrent from his lips, and she took a step back from him, as she replied,

"Mr. McNeil, I will _never_ regard you in the light you are thinking of, so all this talk is worse than folly."

"Have I spoken too late?" he almost hissed.

His eyes seemed to burn as he looked into her face.

"Have you already promised yourself to Lancy? Tell me!"

"I will not!" came the defiant answer. "You have no right to ask such a question, and I will not answer it!"

Her defiant air and scornful words angered him. He had buoyed himself up with the hope that if he once declared his love she would be touched with the declaration, and, if she did refuse him, would do it in a kindly way that would bid him hope for better luck by and by; but to have his love flung back in his teeth, as it were, was more than his pa.s.sionate nature could bear.

"Oh! so you love him, do you, and spurn me. Tell me, is it so?"

Again she stepped back from him as he was speaking, and was unaware how very near she was to the edge of the roof; but Hugh observed it, and thinking he could force a confession from her lips through fear, if by no other means, he quickly grasped her arm, saying in a voice trembling with pa.s.sion:

"Do you love him? Tell me, or I'll throw you over!"

Dexie turned her head, and for one awful moment, as she realized her peril, her face blanched to her very lips; but instead of the answer Hugh expected, she raised her eyes to his, and he quailed beneath their terrible glance, as she cried:

"Throw me over then, you coward, for I'll never tell you!"

An instant they stood thus face to face, on the very edge of the roof, when Hugh's better nature a.s.serted itself, and he quickly drew her back to safety, exclaiming hoa.r.s.ely:

"Forgive me, Dexie, I never meant to do it, indeed I did not; I would not harm a hair of your dear head for a thousand worlds!"

He felt weak and small before the girl whom he had thought to bend to his will, and made no effort now to keep her from entering the house, but stepped to the window beside her and raised it, endeavoring all the while to get a word of forgiveness from her close-shut lips. She never even turned her head in his direction, but entered the house and into her own room, and Hugh was obliged to descend with a more uncomfortable feeling in his breast than he had felt there when he sought Dexie's presence on the roof. "Baffled, after all," was his silent comment; "a coward, she called me; yes, it was a cowardly thing to do, and I might have known she would resent it. But how handsome she looked as she defied me on the very edge of the roof! I believe she would not have opened her lips and answered that question, even to save her life, after she had once refused to speak! But I'll win her yet, and she will be doubly dear when conquered at last, my brave Dexie!" and with feelings that were only intensified by this interview, he returned to the yard to prepare the carriage for the drive to the depot next morning.

It was some satisfaction to be able to see that everything possible was done for the comfort of his darling, though it was bitterness itself to think of her going away under the escort of Lancy Gurney.

When he re-entered the house, his unusual pallor was quickly noticed by Mrs. Gurney, and she kindly asked:

"Are you very tired, Hugh?"

Without lifting his eyes, he replied:

"No, not tired, but heart-sick."

"What is it, Hugh? What is the trouble?" she asked, in her kind, motherly tone.

"Do not ask me, please! it is nothing that can be remedied, believe me,"

and he raised his eyes a moment and met her inquiring gaze.

"Well, my boy, you, like the rest of us, I suppose, have just so much pain and trouble to bear in this world. Do not let it bear too heavily on your young heart; all is for the best in the end, you know," and her hand was laid on his shoulder with a sympathetic pressure, as she pa.s.sed on.

All for the best! when in all the hasty preparations that are of necessity left till the last few hours before a journey, no one even thought of the fierce heart-struggle that was his, or would have cared about it had they known it! There seemed to be no kind word of remembrance for him, amidst the bustle and confusion that reigned around him. He felt as if he stood apart from those who, up to this time, seemed as near to him as kith and kin.

CHAPTER XIX.

Both families were early astir the next morning, but the hour soon arrived that the last "good-byes" must be said, and Mrs. Gurney had reason to be thankful that Dexie was one of the party, otherwise it would have been impossible to have started Elsie on her journey without seeming to be harsh. As it was, Elsie clung to each of the family in turn, as if her journey were to extend to the Cape of Good Hope, and the length of her stay to be indefinite. She was lifted into the carriage at last, her hat pulled back on her head, and her disordered apparel otherwise smoothed out by Dexie, and Hugh was bidden by Mr. Gurney to "drive on quickly," amidst the shrill choruses of "good-byes" from the little ones of the family who had gathered on the steps to see them off. Seeing that Elsie still kept looking back and waving her handkerchief in token of farewell, Mrs. Gurney drew the children into the house, and then went away to her own room, where, for a short time, she remained. When she appeared among them again, her face had regained its usual calm and placid expression. She had left her burden with the Great Burden-bearer, and though her heart would go after her daughter in loving solicitude, she felt that Elsie was in safe-keeping, and so could rest content.

During the drive to the depot, Dexie was all life and animation. She plied Lancy with questions which she gave little chance to answer, until she succeeded in getting Elsie's attention turned to outward things, and as they drove rapidly along the road, they began to speculate whether any of the occupants of the cabs that were going in the same direction were to be fellow-travellers.

Hugh was unusually silent--perhaps it was just as well that he was--but the rest of the party kept up such a stream of talk that his want of speech was not remarked.

His heart was too sore for speech, for Dexie's cold, indifferent look cut deeper than she knew. He had not been able to get a word with her since the unfortunate interview on the roof, but he felt that he _must_ have one parting word, and he kept revolving in his mind what he could say that would likely win for him one word of forgiveness for his unguarded words.

But it was not easy to obtain even the smallest speech amidst the bustle and distraction of the moving crowd at the depot. Lancy hurried the girls into the car that they might have a choice of seats, then, leaving them comfortably seated, he left the car to secure their tickets and checks.

Had it not been for the fact that amidst the hurry of gathering up the wraps, etc., from the carriage, they had forgotten that ever-welcome addition to one's travelling paraphernalia, the lunch-basket, Hugh might have been unable to get a word from Dexie beyond the curt "good-bye" that she had already cut and dried, as it were, and ready to fling out the window at him at the last moment.

But Hugh's keen eyes observed the forgotten basket, that had been packed with such care, and seizing it he entered the car, just as Lancy was leaving it at the opposite door.

Lancy had wisely chosen the centre seats as being the most comfortable, and Dexie sat chatting gaily to Elsie lest the home-parting should again come before her mental vision, when she saw Hugh enter the car.

She had just time to compose her face into a look of solemn indifference, when Hugh reached her side.

"You forgot the lunch-basket, Elsie," he said, looking across at Dexie who sat facing her. "You left it in the carriage."

"Oh! so we did," said Elsie. "Whatever should we have done if you had not seen it in time! Wasn't it lucky, Dexie, that he noticed it?"