The
view was eastward, and a great moon hung before her in a sky which
had not a cloud. Nothing was moving except on the minutest scale,
and she remained leaning over, the night-hawk sounding his croud from
the bough of an isolated tree on the open hill side.
Here Margery waited till the appointed time had passed by three-
quarters of an hour; but no Baron came. She had been full of an
idea, and her heart sank with disappointment. Then at last the
pacing of a horse became audible on the soft path without, leading up
from the water-meads, simultaneously with which she beheld the form
of the stranger, riding home, as he had said.
The moonlight so flooded her face as to make her very conspicuous in
the garden-gap. 'Ah my maiden--what is your name--Margery!' he said.
'How came you here? But of course I remember--we were to meet. And
it was to be at eight--proh pudor!--I have kept you waiting!'
'It doesn't matter, sir. I've thought of something.'
'Thought of something?'
'Yes, sir. You said this morning that I was to think what I would
like best in the world, and I have made up my mind.'
'I did say so--to be sure I did,' he replied, collecting his
thoughts. 'I remember to have had good reason for gratitude to you.'
He placed his hand to his brow, and in a minute alighted, and came up
to her with the bridle in his hand.
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