He had forced her to say, "Come": she
could do no less when he had just interfered to save her insult, and had
begged the boon.
"Insult!" his arm ached to strike another blow, as he remembered the
sentence it had cut short. Of course the fellow had been drinking, but
outrage of her was intolerable, whatever madness prompted it. The very
sun must shine more brightly, and the wind blow softly, when she passed
by. Ah me! were the whole world what an ardent lover prays for his
mistress, there were no need of death to enjoy the bliss of heaven.
What could he say? what do? how find words to speak the measured
feelings of a friend? how control the beatings of his heart, the passion
of his soul, that no sign should escape to wound or offend her? She had
bade him to silence: was he sufficiently master of himself to strike the
lighter keys without sounding some deep chords that would jar upon her
ear?
He tried to picture the scene of their second meeting. He repeated again
and again her formal title, Miss Ercildoune, that he might familiarize
his tongue and his ear to the sound, and not be on the instant betrayed
into calling the name which he so often uttered in his thoughts. He said
over some civil, kindly words of greeting, and endeavored to call up,
and arrange in order, a theme upon which he should converse. "I shall
not dare to be silent," he thought, "for if I am, my silence will tell
the tale; and if that do not, she will hear it from the throbbings of my
heart.
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