for life to this daring suitor; might not that have secured for him this wondrous prize?  If she had any regard for him at all, she might have been startled into confession.  A couple of words—­there by the side of the Aivron—­might have been enough.  No theatrical professions nor mock homage, no kneeling at her feet or swearing by eternal stars; but a look into her eyes—­a clasp of the hand—­a single question?  Something he had indeed meant to say to her, as they stood face to face there for the last time—­something, he hardly knew what; and yet his hesitation had been but natural; he might have been hurried into saying too much; he dared not offend.  Nay, even as he held her hand, he was unaware of the true state of his feeling towards her; it was this separation—­this ever-increasing distance between them—­that had enabled him to understand.

And then again his mood changed into one of bitter self-reproach and self-contempt.  What miserable folly was this crying for the moon—­this picturing of a marriage between the daughter of an ancient and wealthy house—­one, too, who was unmistakably proud of her lineage—­and a singer in comic opera!  Not for nothing had he heard of the twin brothers Cunyngham who fell on Flodden Field.  It is true that at the present time he and she mingled in the same society; for he was the pet and plaything of the hour in the fashionable world; but he was not entirely blinded by that favor; he did not wholly mistake his position.  And even supposing—­a wild conjecture!—­that she entertained an exceptional regard for him—­that she could be induced to think of marrying him—­would she be content that her husband remained on the stage and painted his face every evening and postured before the footlights?  On the other hand, apart from the stage, what was he?—­a mere nobody, not too-well instructed, having no particular gifts of wit or conversation, without even a well-filled purse—­the meanest of qualifications—­to recommend him.  No doubt they might make a very pretty bargain between them; he might go to her and say,

“Let there be a sacrifice on both sides.  I give up the theatre—­I give up the applause, the popularity, the opportunities of making pleasant friendships—­all the agreeable things of a stage-life; and you on your part give up your pride of birth, and, it may be, something of your place in society.  It is a surrender on both sides.  Let our motto be, ‘All for love, and the world well lost.’” Yes, a very pretty bargain; but as he considered that he was now wandering into the region of romance—­a region which he unhesitatingly scorned as having no relation with the facts of the world—­he withdrew from that futile and useless and idle speculation, and took to thinking of Miss Honnor Cunyngham as she actually was, and wondering over which of the Aivron pools the proud-featured fisher-maiden would be casting at this moment.