A/N So there he sits--thinking... I never thought this decision was an easy one for him.

DICING WITH FATE

I sat on the stile for a long interval after she went on to the house. I realized that things had come to a point where I would have to make a decision soon. This innocent-minded little girl did not seem to realize that there were not one but two suitors for her hand. Indeed, she appeared to be completely unconscious of even the possibility that someone might find her desirable; might wish to marry her.

I was aware however, that Mr. Rivers had been regarding her for some time with a rather proprietary air. He was her Cousin, of course, and could be expected to take an interest in her as a member of his family; and in some small way, she could be considered to be his responsibility; as much as if she were another sister. He was not her Guardian though, that would have been the Aunt who had just died. It seemed that she was a free agent—able to make her own decisions as to her Future.

I looked at my hand, it still retained the electric sensation I had felt when I took her hand to help her over the stile. "You're in deep trouble, my friend," I told myself, "that's never happened before, but I know what it means!"

I thought about the words she had blurted out, "Wherever you are is my home..." How embarrassed she had been at this rash statement of hers—but how much it had pleased me to hear it! At last I had a solid indicator of her feelings, which she had been successfully concealing from me until now.

The question before me was: what course of action to follow—I wanted to be honest with her, to tell her everything, to lay my problems before her, and to ask for her understanding and support. I feared to take that step. I foresaw what might come of it: I could hear it now—the hesitant little stammer as she refused me; I could see the sorrow in her posture as she turned her face away from me; and worst of all, I could visualize my rival's triumph as he won her by default!

It was a problem as thorny as the trees where the rooks were roosting, over there in the field. Family lore had it that as long as the rooks roosted there—the lands would stay in our possession. There was even a rook on the crest of our coat-of-arms. Noisy birds, but I was accustomed to hearing them—it was something I always missed when I was away—the sound of their cawing.

There was a melancholy thought—who was there to care for the lands when I was gone? I was the last leaf on the Rochester family tree, and I was not getting any younger. In a few more years it might be too late for me. I had a vivid memory of an evening a few months ago—I had walked into the Drawing Room at Teatime and there they were, sitting by the fire: Mrs. Fairfax, Adele, and Jane—almost like a family portrait. It was then that I knew what it was that I had been missing all these years—a home. Yes, a home was what I wanted—and I wanted that sweet, gentle little girl to be the center of it.

Perhaps I should leave soon for another of my endless, aimless trips. Maybe if I was away from here—not seeing her all the time—I could deal with my feelings—could repress my emotions—deny this hopeless love I felt. No, I already knew that it wouldn't be that easy—this whole time she had been away at her Aunt's—I had spent living in a wasteland. I had gone to London and taken care of some small business details: made the rounds; gone to some lectures; attended the Theatre with some of my acquaintances (avoiding the lures of the "Green Room" afterwards!); stopped by my Club; paid some calls—the usual round of Society—and I had felt as if I was in an enclosure made of glass. I could see and be seen, but nothing touched me and I could not feel anything. It was not until I had seen, touched, and spoken to her a short time ago that the spell had lifted—I felt alive again—all the rest had been like suspended animation—like the sort of dream that one cannot wake from.

Just the thought of Rivers with her set my teeth on edge—he was a perfectly worthy fellow—high-principled, well-educated, a gentleman, and extremely handsome into the bargain. But—his was also a very cold personality; very punctilious in carrying out his parish duties, but there was no heart behind the words of Christian comfort. His sermons were all right as far as they went, but I could see that he was restless in his post. He had some wider ambition in mind—once the opportunity presented itself, he would move on—and if I failed to act—he would take Jane with him. I feared for her happiness if she were tied to him—I could see the likelihood of her youth and joy fading away under the relentless pressure of his austere personality.

I thought of the way she had looked when I first knew her: thin and pale and sad—the weight of a harsh childhood still upon those slender shoulders of hers. In time I had seen a transformation—the drooping little Snowdrop transformed into a blossoming Rose. She smiled, she laughed, there was color in her cheeks, a spring to her step, a cheerful demeanor when we met. I could not bear the thought that she might go back to what she had been before I had known her and fallen in love with her. Unless I made a declaration of my feelings soon, it could happen like that.

So, there I was on the horns of that fabled beast called "Dilemma"--no matter the choice before me—it would be a flawed decision, because both the choices had something wrong with them.

I had sat here long enough—Pilot was nosing at my leg—trying to prod me into going home, no doubt. I got up and glanced toward the noisy rookery over yonder--"Well, I shall see what can be done," said I, and I pulled a penny out of my pocket--"Heads or tails—what shall it be?"

Next stop--there will be a frog waiting for us.