It was a lovely autumn night, and the air was
still as death, with just a touch of frost in it.
Ida threw the shawl over her shoulders and followed by Harold walked
on through the garden till she came to the edge of the moat, where
there was a seat. Here she sat down and fixed her eyes upon the hoary
battlements of the gateway, now clad in a solemn robe of moonlight.
Harold looked at her and felt that if he had anything to say the time
had come for him to say it, and that she had brought him here in order
that she might be able to listen undisturbed. So he began again, and
told her that he loved her dearly.
"I am some seventeen years older than you," he went on, "and I suppose
that the most active part of my life lies in the past; and I don't
know if, putting other things aside, you could care to marry so old a
man, especially as I am not rich. Indeed, I feel it presumptuous on my
part, seeing what you are and what I am not, to ask you to do so. And
yet, Ida, I believe if you could care for me that, with heaven's
blessing, we should be very happy together. I have led a lonely life,
and have had little to do with women--once, many years ago, I was
engaged, and the matter ended painfully, and that is all. But ever
since I first saw your face in the drift five years and more ago, it
has haunted me and been with me.
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