612 THE SANCTUARY. 



" Aye," returned the young man, in a bitterness of tone that 

 ill accorded with the received notions of a lover's courtesy, " aye, 

 that I might not intrude upon an hour which should be given to 

 him." 



He paused, and from the relaxing of the brow, and the drawing 

 in of the breath, it might have been inferred that the bitterness of 

 feeling which had dictated his language had passed away, and that 

 he now awaited, rather with the feelings of a criminal than an ac- 

 cuser, the fiat which might be pronounced. During this Mary had 

 seated herself as before, within the casement, but bending her head 

 forward as Henri ceased speaking 



" I have not deserved this," she said, with a more firm intonation 

 than she had used before. " Mary Woodman is not wont to boast ; 

 but but" her voice softened as she went on, " it is hard to be sus- 

 pected by him, for whom I have borne the reproaches of one whom 

 my own heart tells me truly loves ; and have borne, too, the daily 

 upbraidings of a fond father, who had a right to my obedience." 



She bent her face on her hands, as she tremulously pronounced the 

 last words ; and Henri, who had stood while she spoke with the 

 downcast look of a culprit, caught by the branch of an oak that partly 

 shaded the window, and, with one bold spring, was instantly in th*e 

 maiden's apartment. 



Mary uttered a faint scream ; but terror and resentment soon fled 

 before the magical influence of love. All was forgiven and forgotten, 

 except the well-grounded fear for her lover's safety. 



" Is not your bark freighted, and does not the light breeze that 

 has wafted away so many vessels this day blow direct for Brittany ?" 



" My vessel is freighted, and the breeze is favourable ; but, Mary, 

 I go not unless with you." 



" I dare not, Henri I dare not call upon myself the curse of the 

 disobedient. But hark ! the bell of Saint Nicholas chimes in ano- 

 ther hour it will be midnight. Oh ! Henri," she added, with con- 

 vulsive eagerness, " go this moment to your bark ; there is not, I 

 swear, at this hour, one Breton stranger in all England except your- 

 self. There is yet time to escape the felon's death. Hush !" she 

 continued, breaking from his arms, " was not that a foot-fall ? Do 

 you not hear a rustling among the bushes yonder ?" 



" It is only the beating of your own little heart." 



" There again. Hush !" 



<( If the leaves do rustle, love, it is because the breeze is fresh- 

 ening." 



" Then, Henri, if the breeze does freshen, surely it is a warning 

 to depart. If you will not hearken to my voice, hearken, at least, 

 to the voice of the winds of Heaven." 



There was that imploring earnestness in her speech, and that 

 agonizing entreaty in her countenance, revealed by the moonlight, 

 that Henri could not but swerve from his fixed purpose ; however, 

 he essayed a last attempt ; 



" Would you have me go alone, Mary ? Shall no smile of thine 

 gladden my far-off home?" 



" It is too late !" 



