The next day, by a happy interposition of Fortune, proved to be a day without rain. Amelius followed his instructions to the letter. A little watery sunshine showed itself as he left the station at Harrow. His mind was still in such a state of doubt and disturbance that it drew from superstition a faint encouragement to hope. He hailed the feeble November sunlight as a good omen.
Mr. and Mrs. Ormond's place of residence stood alone, surrounded by its own grounds. A wooden fence separated the property, on one side, from a muddy little by-road, leading to a neighbouring farm. At a wicket-gate in this fence, giving admission to a shubbery situated at some distance from the house, Amelius now waited for the appearance of the maid.
After a delay of a few minutes only, the faithful Phoebe approached the gate with a key in her hand. "Where is she?" Amelius asked, as the girl opened the gate for him.
"Waiting for you in the shrubbery. Stop, sir; I have something to say to you first."
Amelius took out his purse, and produced the fee. Even he had observed that Phoebe was perhaps a little too eager to get her money!
"Thank you, sir. Please to look at your watch. You mustn't be with Miss Regina a moment longer than a quarter of an hour."
"Why not?"
"This is the time, sir, when Mrs. Ormond is engaged every day with her cook and housekeeper. In a quarter of an hour the orders will be given--and Mrs. Ormond will join Miss Regina for a walk in the grounds. You will be the ruin of me, sir, if she finds you here." With that warning, the maid led the way along the winding paths of the shrubbery.
"I must thank you for your letter, Phoebe," said Amelius, as he followed her. "By-the-by, who was your messenger?"
Phoebe's answer was no answer at all. "Only a young man, sir," she said.
"In plain words, your sweetheart, I suppose?"
Phoebe's expressive silence was her only reply. She turned a corner, and pointed to her mistress standing alone before the entrance of a damp and deserted summer-house.
Regina put her handkerchief to her eyes, when the maid had discreetly retired. "Oh," she said softly, "I am afraid this is very wrong."
Amelius removed the handkerchief by the exercise of a little gentle force, and administered comfort under the form of a kiss. Having opened the proceedings in this way, he put his first question, "Why did you leave London?"
"How could I help it!" said Regina, feebly. "They were all against me. What else could I do?"
It occurred to Amelius that she might, at her age, have asserted a will of her own. He kept his idea, however, to himself, and, giving her his arm, led her slowly along the path of the shrubbery. "You have heard, I suppose, what Mr. Farnaby expects of me?" he said.
"Yes, dear."
"I call it worse than mercenary--I call it downright brutal."
"Oh, Amelius, don't talk so!"
Amelius came suddenly to a standstill. "Does that mean you agree with him?" he asked.
"Don't be angry with me, dear. I only meant there was some excuse for him."
"What excuse?"
"Well, you see, he has a high idea of your family, and he thought you were rich people. And--I know you didn't mean it, Amelius--but, still, you did disappoint him."
Amelius dropped her arm. This mildly-persistent defence of Mr. Farnaby exasperated him.
"Perhaps I have disappointed you?" he said.
"Oh, no, no! Oh, how cruel you are!" The ready tears showed themselves again in her magnificent eyes--gentle considerate tears that raised no storm in her bosom, and produced no unbecoming results in her face. "Don't be hard on me!" she said, appealing to him helplessly, like a charming overgrown child.
Some men might have still resisted her; but Amelius was not one of them. He took her hand, and pressed it tenderly.
"Regina," he said, "do you love me?"
"You know I do!"
He put his arm round her waist, he concentrated the passion that was in him into a look, and poured the look into her eyes. "Do you love me as dearly as I love you?" he whispered.
She felt it with all the little passion that was in her. After a moment of hesitation, she put one arm timidly round his neck, and, bending her grand head, laid it on his bosom. Her finely-rounded, supple, muscular figure trembled, as if she had been the most fragile woman living. "Dear Amelius!" she murmured inaudibly. He tried to speak to her--his voice failed him. She had, in perfect innocence, fired his young blood. He drew her closer and closer to him: he lifted her head, with a masterful resolution which she was not able to resist, and pressed his kisses in hot and breathless succession on her lips. His vehemence frightened her. She tore herself out of his arms with a sudden exertion of strength that took him completely by surprise. "I didn't think you would have been rude to me!" With that mild reproach, she turned away, and took the path which led from the shrubbery to the house. Amelius followed her, entreating that she would accept his excuses and grant him a few minutes more. He modestly laid all the blame on her beauty--lamented that he had not resolution enough to resist the charm of it. When did that commonplace compliment ever fail to produce its effect? Regina smiled with the weakly complacent good-nature, which was only saved from being contemptible by its association with her personal attractions. "Will you promise to behave?" she stipulated. And Amelius, not very eagerly, promised.
"Shall we go into the summer-house?" he suggested.
"It's very damp at this time of year," Regina answered, with placid good sense. "Perhaps we might catch cold--we had better walk about."
They walked accordingly. "I wanted to speak to you about our marriage," Amelius resumed.
She sighed softly. "We have some time to wait," she said, "before we can think of that."
He passed this reply over without notice. "You know," he went on, "that I have an income of five hundred a year?"
"Yes, dear."
"There are hundreds of thousands of respectable artisans, Regina, (with large families), who live comfortably on less than half my income."
"Do they, dear?"
"And many gentlemen are not better off. Curates, for instance. Do you see what I am coming to, my darling?"
"No, dear."
"Could you live with me in a cottage in the country, with a nice garden, and one little maid to wait on us, and two or three new dresses in a year?"
Regina lifted her fine eyes in sober ecstasy to the sky. "It sounds very tempting," she remarked, in the sweetest tones of her voice.
"And it could all be done," Amelius proceeded, "on five hundred a year."
"Could it, dear?"
"I have calculated it--allowing the necessary margin--and I am sure of what I say. And I have done something else; I have asked about the Marriage License. I can easily find lodgings in the neighbourhood. We might be married at Harrow in a fortnight."
Regina started: her eyes opened widely, and rested on Amelius with an expression of incredulous wonder. "Married in a fortnight?" she repeated. "What would my uncle and aunt say?"
"My angel, our happiness doesn't depend on your uncle and aunt--our happiness depends on ourselves.