"Damme, if _I_ know!" Barton exclaimed, returning to his customary swagger. It was quite enough that the matter was generally talked about, and he had said nothing to settle it, in either way. But his manner, more than his words, convinced Gilbert that there was no betrothal as yet, and that the vanity of being regarded as the successful suitor of a lovely girl had a more prominent place than love, in his rival's heart. By so much was his torture lightened, and the passion of the moment subsided, after having so nearly betrayed itself.
"I say, Gilbert," Barton presently remarked, walking on towards the bars which led into the meadow-field; "it's time you were looking around in that way, hey?"
"It will be time enough when I am out of debt."
"But you ought, now, to have a wife in your house."
"That's true, Gilbert. Just as I have a father. The old man's queer, as you saw--kept me out of marrying; when I was young, and now drives me to it. I might ha' had children grown"--
He paused, laying his hand on the young man's shoulder. Gilbert fancied that he saw on Barton's coarse, dull face the fleeting stamp of some long-buried regret, and a little of the recent bitterness died out of his heart.
"Good-bye!" he said, offering his hand with greater ease than he would have thought possible, fifteen minutes sooner.
"Good-bye, Gilbert! Take care of Roger. Sandy Flash has a fine piece of horse-flesh, but you beat him once--Damnation! You _could_ beat him, I mean. If he comes within ten miles of us, I'll have the summonses out in no time."
Gilbert cantered lightly down the meadow. The soft breath of the summer evening fanned his face, and something of the peace expressed in the rich repose of the landscape fell upon his heart. But peace, he felt, could only come to him through love. The shame upon his name--the slow result of labor--even the painful store of memories which the years had crowded in his brain--might all be lightly borne, or forgotten, could his arms once clasp the now uncertain treasure. A tender mist came over his deep, dark eyes, a passionate longing breathed in his softened lips, and he said to himself,--
"I would lie down and die at her feet, if that could make her happy; but how to live, and live without her?" This was a darkness which his mind refused to entertain. Love sees no justice on Earth or in Heaven, that includes not its own fulfilled desire.