Part 39 (1/2)
”No.”
”He asked Guy to let you have the cottage?”
”Yes; I had wearied of everything, and though by some chance I had come in for all Mr. Arlington's property, I only cared to go away and hide myself somewhere where I should find quiet and peace. I tried several places, but I was always restless until I came here.” She smiles faintly.
Cyril, after a pause, says, hesitatingly:
”Cecilia, did you ever care for--for--Trant?”
”Never: did you imagine that? I never cared for any one but you; I never shall again. And you, Cyril,” the tears rus.h.i.+ng thickly to her eyes, ”do you still think you can love me, the daughter of one bad man, the wife of another? I can hardly think myself as good as other women when I remember all the hateful scenes I have pa.s.sed through.”
”I shall treat you to a crowning scene if you ever dare say that again,”
says Cyril, whose spirits are rising now she has denied having any affection for Trant. ”And if every relation you ever had was as bad as bad could be, I should adore you all the same. I can't say any more.”
”You needn't,” returns she, laughing a little. ”Oh, Cyril, how sweet it is to be beloved, to me especially, who never yet (until now) had any love offered me; at least,” correcting herself hastily, ”any I cared to accept!”
”But you had a lover?” asks he, earnestly.
”Yes, one.”
”Trant again?” letting his teeth close somewhat sharply on his under lip.
”Yes.”
”Cecilia, I am afraid you liked that fellow once. Come, confess it.”
”No, indeed, not in the way you mean; but in every other way more than I can tell you. I should be the most ungrateful wretch alive if it were otherwise. As a true friend, I love him.”
”How dare you use such a word to any one but me?” says Cyril, bending to smile into her eyes. ”I warn you not to do it again, or I shall be dangerously and outrageously jealous. Tears in your eyes still, my sweet? Let me kiss them away: poor eyes! surely they have wept enough in their time to permit of their only smiling in the future.”
When they have declared over and over again (in different language every time, of course) the everlasting affection each feels for the other, Cecilia says:
”How late it grows! and you are in your evening dress, and without a hat. Have you dined?”
”Not yet; but I don't want any dinner.” (By this remark, O reader, you may guess the depth and sincerity of his love.) ”We generally dine at half-past seven, but to-night we are to starve until eight to oblige Florence, who has been spending the day somewhere. So I dressed early and came down to see you.”
”At eight,” says Cecilia, alarmed: ”it is almost that now. You must go, or Lady Chetwoode will be angry with me, and I don't want any one belonging to you to think bad thoughts of me.”
”There is plenty of time: it can't be nearly eight yet. Why, it is only half an hour since I came.”
”It is a quarter to eight,” says Cecilia, solemnly. ”Do go, and come again as early as you can to-morrow.”
”You will be glad to see me?”
”Yes, if you come very early.”
”And you are sure, my own darling, that you really love me?”
”Quite, _quite_ sure,” tenderly.