One day, when the father and son chanced to be alone in the grand old library, where Sir Noel spent so much of his time, the conversation seemed naturally to turn upon some future arrangements regarding the estate.

"It has been a pleasant burden to me so far," said the old gentleman, "because every day made the lands a richer inheritance for you and your children; but now I am only waiting for one event to place the heaviest responsibility on your young shoulders."

"You mean," said the young man, flushing a little, "that you would impose two burdens upon me at once--a vast estate and some lady to preside over the old house."

The baronet smiled, and answered with a faint motion of the head.

Then the young man answered, laughingly:

"There is plenty of time for that. I have everything to learn before so great a trust should be given me. As for the house, no one could preside there better than the Lady Rose."

The baronet's face brightened.

"No," he said, "we could hardly expect that. In all England it would be difficult to find a creature so lovely and so well fitted to the position."

Sir Noel faltered as he concluded this sentence. He had not intended to connect the idea of this lady so broadly with his wishes. To his refined nature it seemed as if her dignity had been sacrificed.

"She is, indeed, a marvel of beauty and goodness," answered the young man, apparently unmindful of the words that had disturbed his father.

"I for one am in no haste to disturb her reign at 'Norston's Rest'."

Sir Noel was about to say: "But it might be made perpetual," but the sensitive delicacy natural to the man checked the thought before it formed itself into speech.

"Still it is in youth that the best foundations for domestic happiness are laid. I look upon it as a great misfortune when circ.u.mstances forbid a man to follow the first and freshest impulses of his heart--"

Here the baronet broke off, and a deep unconscious sigh completed the sentence.

Young Hurst looked at his father with awakened interest. The expression of sadness that came over those finely-cut features made him thoughtful. He remembered that Sir Noel had entered life a younger son, and that he had not left the army to take possession of his t.i.tle and estates until after mid-age. He could only guess at the romance of success or disappointment that might have gone before; but even that awoke new sympathy in the young man's heart for his father.

"I can hardly think that there is any time of life for which a man has power to lay down for himself certain rules of action," he said. "To say that any man will or will not marry at any given period is to suppose him capable of great control over his own best feelings."

"You are right," answered Sir Noel, with more feeling than he usually exhibited. "The time for a man to marry is when he is certainly in love."

"And the person?" questioned the young man, with a strange expression of earnestness in his manner.

"Ah! The person that he does love."

Sir Noel, thinking of his ward, was not surprised to see a flood of crimson rush over the young man's face, nor offended when he arose abruptly and left the library.

CHAPTER VI.

CONFESSIONS OF LOVE.

The baronet might, however, have been surprised had he seen Walton Hurst pa.s.s the Lady Rose on the terrace, only lifting his hat in recognition of her presence as he hurried into the park.

"He guesses at my madness, or, at the worst, he will forgive it," ran through his thoughts as he took a near route toward the wilderness, "and she--ah, I have been cruel in this strife to conquer myself. My love, my beautiful wild-bird! It will be sweet to see her eyes brighten and her mouth tremble under a struggle to keep back her smiles."

Thoughts like these occupied the young man until he stood before the gardener's cottage, and looked eagerly into the porch, hoping to see something besides the birds fluttering under the vines. He was disappointed: no one was there; but glancing through the oriel window he saw a gleam of warm color and the dejected droop of a head, that might have grown weary with looking out of the window; for it fell lower and lower, as if two unsteady hands were supporting the face.

Hurst trod lightly over the turf, holding his breath, lifted the latch and stole into the little parlor in which the girl, we have once seen in the porch, was sitting disconsolately, as she had done hours each day through a lonely week.

"Ruth!"

The girl sprang to her feet, uttering a little cry of delight. Then an impulse of pride seized upon the heart that was beating so wildly, and she drew back, repudiating her own gladness.

"I hoped to find you here and alone," he said, holding out both hands with a warmth that astonished her; for she shrunk back and looked at him wonderingly.

"I have been away so long, and all the time longing to come; nay, nay, I will not have that proud lift of the head; for, indeed, I deserve a brighter welcome."

The girl had done her best to be reserved and cold, but how could she succeed with those pleading eyes upon her--those two hands searching for hers?

"It is so long, so long," she said, with sweet upbraiding in her eyes; "father has wondered why you did not come. It is very cruel neglecting him so."

Hurst smiled at her pretty attempt at subterfuge; for he really had not spent much of his time in visiting Jessup, though the gardener had been a devoted friend during his boyhood, and truly believed that it was old remembrances that brought the young man so often to his cottage.

"I fancy your father will not have missed me very much," he said.

"But he does; indeed, indeed he does."

"And you cared nothing?"

Ruth dropped her eyelids, and he saw that tears were swelling under them. Selfishly watching her emotion until the long black lashes were wet, he lifted her hands suddenly to his lips and kissed them, with pa.s.sionate warmth.

She struggled, and wrenched her hands away from him.

"You must not--you must not: father would be _so_ angry."

"Not if he knew how much I love you."

She stood before him transfigured; her black eyes opened wide and bright, her frame trembled, her hands were clasped.

"You love me--you?"

"Truly, Ruth, and dearly as ever man loved woman," was the earnest, almost solemn, answer.

The girl turned pale, even her lips grew white.

"I dare not let you," she said, in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"I dare not."

"But how can you help it?" said Hurst, smiling at her terror.

"How can I help it?"

The girl lifted her hands as if to ward him away. This announcement of his love frightened her. A sweet unconscious dream that had neither end nor beginning in her young experience had been rudely broken up by it.