"Wait and hope, dearest, for what? My promotion?"
"That would bring the end no nearer," said she, with a sad, sickly smile.
"No, certainly; even to be colonel of the Royal Welsh instead of a mere sub would not enhance my value much in Lady Naseby's estimation," said I, with some bitterness. "For what then, darling?"
"Some change in mamma's views regarding me."
"She will never change!"
"You know, Harry, that were you rich, I might marry you now--yes, and go to Turkey with you, too!" said she, with a brightness in her eyes.
"Would to Heaven, then, that I were rich! But being poor--"
"It is impossible."
And we both sighed heavily.
"I am under orders for the East, and _must_ take my turn of duty there, risking all the chances of war, ere I can think of home or marriage, Estelle; but when we part, if I am not to write to you, how shall I ever know that you think of me? how hear of your health and welfare? that you remain true to me--"
"O, doubt not that!"
"Nor do I; but it would be so sweet to see your writing, and imagine your voice reiterating the troth you plighted to me in that terrible time."
"I shall write to you, dear, dear Harry, for I can do that freely and openly; but of you, alas! alas! I can only hear through our friends at the Court here, for you can neither write to me in London nor at Walcot Park."
"May I not ask Miss Lloyd to receive enclosures for you? I shall be writing to her, and we are such old friends that she would think nothing of it."
"Too old friends, I fear," said she, with a half-smiling but pointed glance; "but for Heaven's sake think not of that. She would never consent, nor should I wish her to do so. I can of course receive what letters I choose; but servants will pry, and consider what certain coats of arms, monograms, and postal marks mean; so my Crimean correspondent would be shrewdly suspected, and myself subjected to much annoyance by mamma and her views."
"Her _views!_ This is the second time you have referred to them," said I, anxiously; "and they are--"
"That I should marry my cousin Naseby, whom I always disliked," said Estelle, in a sad and sweetly modulated voice; "or Lord Pottersleigh, whose wealth and influence are so great that a short time must see him created an earl; but he has no chance _now_, dear Harry!"
Long, lovingly, and tenderly she gazed into my eyes, and her glance and her manner seemed so truthful and genuine that I felt all the rapture of trusting her fearlessly, and that neither time nor distance would alter or lessen her regard for me; and a thousand times in "the distant hours" that came did I live over and over again that scene in the arbour, when the warm flush of the August evening was lying deep on the Welsh woods and mountains, when all the mullioned windows of the quaint old mansion were glittering in light, and the soft coo of the wild pigeons was heard as they winged their way to the summit of Craigaderyn, which is usually alive with them, and there the fierce hawk and the ravenous cormorant know well when to find their prey.
The time for my departure drew near; and already but a day remained to me. Caradoc and Charley Gwynne had already sailed in a troopship for Varna, from which the entire army was about to embark for a landing on the Russian coast, and ill or well, my presence with the regimental depôt was imperative. My bullock trunks had been packed by Owen Gwyllim, and the carriage was ordered to convey me next evening, after an early dinner. The latter passed slowly and heavily enough, and afterwards, instead of remaining all together, as might have been expected, circumstances separated us for an hour or so. Lady Naseby was indisposed; so was Lord Pottersleigh, whom his old enemy had confined by the feet to this rooms, yet he hoped to be in service order, to enact the sportsman on the coming 1st of September, a period to which he looked forward with disgust and horror, as involving an enormous amount of useless fatigue, with the chances of shooting himself or some one else. Sir Madoc had certain country business to attend; and on the three young ladies retiring to the drawing-room, I was left to think over my approaching departure through the medium of burgundy and a cigar.
My sword arm was nearly well now; but still I should have made but a poor affair of it, if compelled to resort to inside and outside cuts, to point and parry, with a burly Muscovite. To know that I had but a few hours left me now, and not to spend them with Estelle Cressingham, seemed intolerable! Before me, from the window, spread the far extent of grassy chase steeped in the evening sunshine; above the green woods were the peaks of Snowdon and Carneydd Llewellyn, dim and blue in the distance; and while gazing at them wistfully, I reflected on all I should have to see and undergo, to hope and fear and suffer--the miles I should have to traverse by sea and land--ere I again heard, if ever, the pleasant rustle of the leaves in these old woods, the voice of the wild pigeon or the croak of the rooks among the old Tudor gables and chimneys of Craigaderyn. And then again I thought of Estelle.
"I _must_ see her, and alone, too, at all risks; perhaps dear little Dora will assist me," I muttered, and went towards the drawing-room, which was now considerably involved in shadow, being on the western side of the Court; and I felt with the tender Rosalind, when her lover said, "For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee," "Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours."
I entered the room and found only Winifred Lloyd. She was seated in the deep bay of a very picturesque old oriel window, which seemed to frame her as if in a picture. Her chin was resting in the hollow of her left hand, and she was gazing outward dreamily on vacancy, or along the flower-terraces of the house; but she looked hastily round, and held out a hand to me as I approached.
I caressed the pretty hand, and then dropped it; and not knowing very well what to say, leaned over the back of her chair.
"I suppose," she began, "you are thinking--thinking--"
"How far more pleasing to the eye are a pair of fair white shoulders to the same amount of silk or satin," said I smilingly, as I patted her neck with my glove.
She shrugged the white shoulders in question, and said petulantly, with half averted face,
"Is it possible that your departure has no place in your thoughts?"
"Alas, yes! for do I not leave Craigaderyn by sunset? and its golden farewell rays are lingering on blue Snowdon even now," said I, with a forced smile; for though I had come in quest of Estelle, something--I know not what--drew me to Winifred just then.
Her eyebrows were very black, but slightly arched, and they almost met over her nose; and I gazed into the orbs below them, so dark, so clear, and beautiful--eyes that could neither conceal the emotions of her heart, nor the pleasure or sorrow she felt; and I thought how easily a man might be lured to forget the world for her, as friendship between the sexes--especially in youth--is perilous; and some such thought, perhaps, occurred to her, for she turned her face abruptly from me.
"You are surely not angry with me?" said I, bending nearer her ear.
"Angry--I with you?"
"Yes."
"Why should I be so?" she asked, looking down upon her folded hands that trembled in her lap--for she was evidently repressing some emotion; thinking, perhaps, of poor Phil Caradoc, who was then ploughing the waters of the Mediterranean with Carneydd Llewellyn to console him.
"You should not have come here," said she, after a pause.
"Not into the drawing-room?"
"Unless to meet Estelle Cressingham."
"Do not say this," said I, nervously and imploringly, in a low voice; "what is Estelle to me?"
"Indeed!" said the little scornful lip. "Her mamma summoned her, but she may be here shortly."
Doubtless Lady Naseby had some dread of the leave-taking.
"I shall be so glad to see her once again ere I go."
"Of course."
"I hope that you and she will often think and speak of me when I am gone."
"You are a delightful egotist, Harry Hardinge; but I trust our memories may be reciprocal."
"We have ever been such friends, and must be, you know, Winifred."
"Yes, Harry; why should we _not_ be friends?" she asked, with a dash of passionate earnestness in her tone, while she gazed at me with a curious expression in her large, soft, and long-lashed eyes.
"Have you any message for--for----"
"Whom?" she asked, sharply.
"Philip Caradoc."
"None."
"None!"
"Save kindest regards and warmest wishes. What is Mr. Caradoc to me?" Then she gave a little shiver, as she added, "Our conversation is taking a very strange tone."
"I cannot conceive in how I have annoyed you," said I, with something of sorrow and wonder in my heart.
"Perhaps; but you have not annoyed me, though you are not quite what you used to be; and none are so blind as those who will not see."
"I am quite perplexed. I think we know each other pretty well, Winifred?" said I, very softly.
"I know you certainly," was the dubious response.
"Well--and I you?" said I, laughing.