The footsteps of the two echoed sharply among the rocks. Their shadows, blent into one, preceded them. Yet the thought of both went further ahead still. There were no flowers now, but the brambles dead-green and russet and gold, still thrust out withered fruit-branches across their path. The leafless trees gave clearer vision now. They could see across the stream. There was the garden, the lawn, and on it, by heaven, reaching down red holly-berries from an old tree was a figure in white--Aura herself!
Ned gave a view holloa. She turned round, waved one hand, then dropping her berries waved both.
The thought of the long round by the rhododendrons and the drawbridge was too much for them. The parapet was low, the stream lower still. In a moment they were over it, and racing to meet her like a couple of schoolboys.
She laughed to see them, holding out both hands.
"What a hurry you are in," she cried. "So you have both come. Grandfather said you wouldn't, but Martha and I thought it wiser to get the two rooms ready--and I was right!"
Her welcome disarmed rivalry, and gave both the young men a desire to fall at her feet and kiss the hem of her garment. But they repressed it.
"Of course we have both come!" replied Ned imperturbably. "Are we not the inseparable two-headed, four-armed, four-legged monster, Edward Cruttenden? don't interrupt me, Ted, I am coming to that by and by. Only Miss--Miss--do you know I don't happen to know your surname. Is it Smith?"
She shook her head with a smile. "Graham--but every one calls me Aura."
"Put on the H, please, if you are going to speak like Martha. Only it sounds better without any prefix."
For some reason or other both the young men found themselves blushing and their hearts beating.
"Much nicer," assented Ted with fervour; but Ned made an elision.
"I was going to tell you that in addition to Edward Cruttenden I have--for my sins--to answer to another name--Lord Blackborough."
"You mean," she said slowly, "that as they put it in the books you are Edward Cruttenden, Lord Blackborough?"
"Edward Cruttenden Gibbs, to be strictly according to Debrett," he answered meekly. "I had to take the name when I came into the title three years ago."
A distinct look of disappointment showed on her face. "It is a very great pity," she said still more slowly; then she added more cheerfully. "However, I suppose it can't be helped. Only when I thought of you it was always as Ned and Ted." She glanced at the latter and smiled.