She came in late for dinner, and could scarcely eat. Her reason said
"yes," her heart said "no:" and she knew that she ought to listen to
her reason and turn a deaf ear to the still voice in her heart. She
paced up and down the drawing-room, pale and wan with the fight that
was going on within her. Then suddenly she resolved that she would
accept him. She would not keep him in suspense: it would not be
fair--it would be a cruel requital of his love and generosity. She went
to the writing-table, and hurriedly, as if she were afraid of
hesitating, she drew a sheet of paper towards her and wrote: "Dear Lord Edwin--" She had got thus far when Donald and Bess, who had
been lying beside the fire, sprang up and ran to the door barking
loudly. She laid down the pen and opened the door mechanically; the
moonlight was streaming through the window in the hall; the dogs
bounded to the front door still barking vociferously. Still,
mechanically, she let them out, and they rushed across the terrace and
over the lawn to the group of trees beside the footpath. Thinking that
they heard Jessie, whom she had sent to Bryndermere, Ida,
half-unconsciously glad of the interruption, followed them slowly
across the lawn.
Their barking ceased suddenly, and convinced that it was Jessie, she
went on to add something to her message. Then, suddenly, she saw a tall
figure standing in the shadow of the trees. It was a man, and Donald
and Bess were jumping up at him with little whines of pleasure. Smitten
by a sudden fear she stopped; but the man raised his head and saw her,
and, with an exclamation, strode towards her. For an instant she
thought that she was dreaming, that her imagination was playing her
false, for it was Stafford's form and face. They stood and gazed at
each other; her brain felt dizzy, her pale face grew paler; she knew
that she was trembling, that she could scarcely stand; she began to
sway to and fro slightly, and he caught her in his arms.