was the remotest chance of his coming.
She had three more days to wait.
William Mainwaring's disgust with Helen did not last for many days. The feeling became turned more against himself. He loved Elizabeth. Her letter had hardly left his sight since he had received it, and it had been read over and over again. But Elizabeth was unattainable. And such a love did little to satisfy all one's baser cravings. He found more and more as the dreary days dragged on that his thoughts were returning to Nell.
He despised himself. He had always despised sexual activity that was devoid of love. He had always been determined that he would never be guilty of such a sin himself. Yet he could not get her out of his mind, his little wood nymph. He longed to see her again, to talk to her. He found her fresh and rather naive view of the world quite delightful. She was like a breath of fresh air in a rather stuffy world. He wanted to touch her, to wind his fingers in that wild tangle of hair, to kiss that warm, soft mouth. He wanted to possess her again.
Damn! He tried to repeat the arguments he had used after first reading Elizabeth's letter. He tried to convince himself that in reality Nell was probably little better than a slut, that he was degrading himself associating with her. But it was no good. The craving was too strong to be denied. He was being ruled by pure physical passion, by sheer lust. But he I not shame himself out of his determination to see her again as soon as he was able to hobble as far as the woods.
For two days after he was finally able to get around again he felt obliged to spend his afternoons repaying the visits that his neighbors had been kind enough to pay him during his confinement to the house. He drove himself in a curricle so that there might be less pressure on the still-painful ankle.
He found the visit to the Earl of Claymore rather uncomfortable. The whole family was gathered in the drawing room when he was announced, with the exception of that elusive youngest daughter, and he was faced with all the embarrassment of having to converse with Lady Melissa, remembering how he had begun to set in motion a courtship of the girl just the week before. His injury had put a halt to that, keeping him away from the ball at which he was to have partnered her for the opening set, and preventing him from making a definite appointment to ride with her. But the injury had proved a blessing in disguise. His entanglement with Nell and his feelings for Elizabeth had totally destroyed his plan to court Lady Melissa.
Yet he suspected from the behavior of the ladies that he was being treated almost as the accepted suitor of the girl. He was seated beside her on a sofa; her opinion on everything he uttered was eagerly solicited by her mother, and she always agreed with what he had said. She managed yet again to introduce the topic of riding into the conversation, and there was an awkward little silence when he failed to pick up the cue. He left as soon as good manners allowed him to do so, feeling both relief and alarm. Had he really aroused hopes that he might be honor-bound to revive? He sincerely hoped not. He could not now imagine how he could ever have entertained the notion of marrying the girl.
Finally Mainwaring felt that he was free to spend an afternoon as he wished. His leg felt strong enough. He could walk now without thinking about it. Only the occasional twinge reminded him that he must be careful for a while. Even the weather was cooperating. After a few days that were dull and overcast, the sun shone and only a slight breeze ensured that the day would not be unbearably hot. If only she were there when he came. He had hardly considered the possibility that she might not be. But he had to take the chance.
On this occasion Mainwaring was the first to arrive at the stream beside the hut. He was disappointed. He hoped that she was merely later than usual in coming, not that she was not coming at all. He wandered to the hut and put a hand on the door, which hung crookedly on its hinges. But he removed the hand again. It would not be fair to look inside when she had been so anxious that he should not. And he had made her a gift of the old building. It would not be right to trespass on her property.
He looked around him. The small clearing among the trees almost breathed her presence. The old oak tree would be forever hers. It was in its branches that she had sat the second time he saw her. And it was its trunk she had hugged the last time just before he had touched her. And the stream, where she had been 'learning water' the first time he saw her-had she finally decided what color it was?
He wandered to the edge of the bank and gazed down at the water flowing past. She was quite right. It was really not one color or one shade at all. He stooped down and finally sat on the bank. How had she come to notice that when she was but a wild and untutored little thing? But then, he supposed that one did not need an education to observe the world around. He had never thought of really looking at objects of nature until he met Nell. And he had never considered touching in order to learn. Who but she would have thought of leaning her whole body against a tree just so that she might feel its life?
She was probably a girl of some intelligence. She would doubtless respond with eagerness to the chance to learn from books. He could teach her perhaps. She would be an apt pupil. He could probably open up for her a new world as she had done for him. The thought was tempting.
'Hello,' she said from behind him. Her voice was breathless.
He turned and smiled. 'Hello, wood nymph,' he said. 'I have missed you.'
She moved forward and seated herself beside him. “You hurt your foot,' she said. 'Is it better now?'
'Yes,' he replied, 'and it was a great annoyance, Nell, because it kept me from you.'
She colored and looked at him bright-eyed.
He leaned forward and took one of her hands, which were lying loosely clasped in her lap. 'Nell,' he said, 'I know so little about you. Tell me about yourself.'
The perfect opportunity! All she had to do now was to tell him that she was not what he had thought. He would ask what she meant and she would tell him that she was the third daughter of the Earl of Claymore, the one he had not met. He would not mind. He was in a sympathetic mood.
'There is really nothing to tell,' she heard herself say, and she shrugged her shoulders and smiled. 'My life has been very ordinary. Tell me about yours. It must have been very exciting, I think.'
'And you would be very wrong,' he told her. 'I have a great deal, do I not, wood nymph? Wealth and property and social status. It must seem to you that I cannot fail to be happy.'
'And you are not?' she prompted, unconsciously squeezing the hand that still held hers.
'I had a lonely childhood,' he said. 'My parents died when I was an infant, and my grandfather brought me up in Scotland. He was a recluse long before I came to him. I was educated at home by him-fortunately, he was a learned and an intelligent man. He would not allow me to make companions of any other boy in the vicinity, and he did not wish me to go away to school. He and his housekeeper, who had been with him for years and years, were almost the only human companions I knew until I grew to manhood.'
'Poor little boy,' she said, her eyes suspiciously bright as they looked into his.
He laughed. 'I am not trying to spin a tragedy,' he said. 'It was a lonely childhood, yes, but there were compensations. I loved my grandfather and I believe he loved me. Even his refusal to let me out of his sight came, I think, from a fear that he would lose the one link with life that had come to him in his old age. It was a very secure childhood. It was not until long after he died and I decided that I should venture out into the world that I realized how ill-equipped I was to become a part of it.'
'Where did you go?' she asked.
'To London first,' he said. 'I found life hard there. It is not easy for me to meet and converse with new people. I find myself frequently tongue-tied.'
'Yet you can talk to me,' Helen said.
He smiled and took her hand in a warmer grip. 'Yes, little wood nymph, I can talk to you,' he said, 'because I know you are not sitting in judgment on my conversation and my manners. I always used to feel the same way with… with someone else.'
'With a lady?' she asked.
'I had one good friend, too,' he said, not answering her question. 'He was everything I am not: charming, at ease in any company, never at a loss for words. He helped me a great deal.'
'Why have you come here?' she asked.
