she could not sing because of what was in her heart toward him; but such
a physical revelation was a divine love-confession, coming involuntarily
from one whose lips had not formed the name of love; and Wilfrid felt it
so deeply, that the exquisite flattery was almost lost, in a certain awed
sense of his being in the presence of an absolute fact: a thing real,
though it was much talked about, and visible, though it did not wear a
hat or a petticoat.

It searched him thoroughly enough to keep him from any further pledges in
that direction, propitious as the moment was, while the moon slipped over
banks of marble into fields of blue, and all the midnight promised
silence. They passed quickly through the laurel shrubs, and round the
lawn. Lights were in the sleepless ladies' bed-room windows.

"Do I love her?" thought Wilfrid, as he was about to pull at the bell,
and the thought that he should feel pain at being separated from her for
half-a-dozen hours, persuaded him that he did. The self-restraint which
withheld him from protesting that he did, confirmed it.

"To-morrow morning," he whispered.

"I shall be down by daylight," answered Emilia.

"You are in the shade--I cannot see you," said he.

The door opened as Emilia was moving out of the line of shadow.