"Will You Be My Wife?"
In spite of the exciting conversation of the last half-hour Mr. Abbot
appeared more than usually cheerful during tea. He was indeed more like
the brilliant, entertaining host that he used to be in their former
beautiful home in San Francisco, than Virgie had seen him since their
troubles had come upon them.
At the same, time the young girl wondered what could have occurred to make
their guest so silent and preoccupied. It was evidently an effort for him
to converse at all, while two or three times he was addressed more than
once before he responded, but his glance whenever it met hers thrilled her
strangely, and kept a beautiful flush upon her cheeks throughout the meal.
When it was concluded the two young people went out upon the porch to view
the sunset, while Mr. Abbot retired to his room where he began looking
over and rearranging the papers in his desk.
There was no need now to send that written history with its request for
fatherly care for Virgie, to Lawrence Bancroft. He had not a doubt as to
the result of Sir William Heath's wooing. He was sure that Virgie loved
him, and he was filled with a blessed content and fervent gratitude that
so bright a future was opening before his darling.
She would go to another country where none of the old troubles could touch
her, where no one would be able to point the finger of scorn at her and
whisper that her name had been branded with dishonor, and where,
surrounded by her noble husband's love and care, occupying a high social
position with every good thing that wealth could secure, her life would be
one long summer of peace and happiness.
Meantime an awkward pause had fallen between Virgie and her lover standing
outside upon the porch.
It was broken at last by the baronet with a very trite remark:
"What a warm evening."
"Yes, it has been a very warm day," answered Virgie, feeling very much
inclined to laugh, for never before had they been forced to talk of the
weather in order to keep up a conversation.
"Let us go to our seat under the old pine tree," said Sir William, and
without waiting for her consent, he stepped down to lead the way.
Virgie glanced at him questioningly.
The unusual gravity which she had observed during tea still rested upon
his face and vibrated in his tones.
She wondered at it, and yet, although she could not have told why, her
heart began to beat with quickened throbs on account of it.
Reaching their favorite nook, Sir William gently seated his companion, and
then stood looking down upon her a moment without speaking.
Then he spoke, and there was a tenderer note in his voice than she had
ever heard before.
"Virgie," he said, "have you ever wondered why I came here and turned
miner?"
She looked up quickly as he spoke her name thus for the first time, then
her eyes suddenly drooped beneath the look in his.
"Yes, I have thought it a little singular that you should choose just this
work and this locality," she answered, in a low tone.
"May I tell you why I came?" seating himself at her side.
"Certainly, if you like."
"It was because I found here the only woman whom I could ever love.
Virgie, you are that woman, and my heart told me on that first evening
when I came to you, cold, wet, and hungry, that I must win your love or my
future would be void and desolate. So I seized upon the first reasonable
pretext I could find for remaining, and that, you know, your father
offered me in disposing of his claim. Sometimes I have hoped that you were
learning to love me in return; sometimes I have feared that I should not
succeed in this, the dearest object of my life. My darling, I resolved
to-night that I would put my fate to the test. Will you give yourself to
me for all time, my beautiful mountain queen? Do you love me well enough,
dear, to put your hand in mine and tell me that you will go with me
wherever I will, as my loved and cherished wife?"
Virginia Abbot sat there, her perfect form outlined against the dark,
moss-grown rock that arose, rugged and grand, behind her. The softened
light, as it fell upon her through the boughs of the tree above her, made
her seem like some exquisite picture painted by a master-hand. Her hands,
white as Parian marble, were quietly folded in her lap, but her heart was
in a tumult of joy, and her color came and went in fitful flushes.
She knew that she deeply loved this grand man, who had come to her
mountain home in the early summer time, and she felt that earth could hold
no higher happiness for her than to become his wife and go with him
whithersoever he willed. But she knew, too, that her first duty lay with
her father; that she must have no interests that would interfere with the
care and attention which she owed to him in his failing condition.
"Virgie, you will not crush the sweet hope that has been taking root in my
heart during these months that I have spent with you," Sir William
pleaded, his face paling as she did not answer, and a fear smiting him
that he might have been nourishing a delusion. "I have fancied that I have
seen the love-light dawning in your eyes—oh, do not tell me that I have
been deceiving myself. My darling, I will try to make your life very
bright if you will give yourself to me."
Virgie looked up now with a steady, unwavering glance into his eager eyes,
although her face was dyed with blushes.
"Mr. Heath," she faltered, "you know I cannot leave my father."
"Of course I know it," he returned, his face lighting "I do not ask it,
darling; I only ask that you will give yourself into my keeping, and then
we will devote ourselves to him as long as he lives. Oh, my dearest"—as
he saw an answering gleam in her eyes—"you do love me!"
"Yes, I love you," Virgie breathed, with a downcast but happy face; and
then she was gathered close to her lover's manly breast in a fond embrace.
"My love! my love! I would serve twice seven years, as Jacob did, in this
wild region for the sake of winning that coveted confession from your dear
lips. My mountain queen! and you will soon be my wife?"
But Virgie sat up suddenly at this and pushed him from her with gentle
force, a frightened look in her eyes. Oh, "what have I done? I am afraid I
have done wrong!" she cried.
"Wrong, dearest, in confessing that you love me!" Sir William whispered,
as he tried to draw her again into his arms.
"But you do not know—I have no right to tell you; no—no, I am afraid I
ought not to be your wife," she said, remembering, with a sense of shame
and misery, the stigma resting upon her name.
The young man regarded her anxiously for a moment; then he understood it
all.
"Virgie," he said, "you need not fear to promise all that I ask, for I
know what troubles you. I asked your father's sanction to my suit before I
came to you, and he told me all his sad story. But it need be no barrier
to our happiness. I told him so, and he gave you to me—providing I could
win you—with his blessing."
Virgie lifted her face, all radiant with a sweet new joy, a sense of
exultation in her heart.
"And you were willing——" she began, wondering at the great love that
could thus level what she had had feared would be an insurmountable
barrier.
"Willing, love, to make myself the happiest man on earth," he
interrupted, in a voice that actually trembled with joy. "What Mr. Abbot
told me does not affect your worth or character, nor his either, and some
time I believe the wrong will be made all right. Even were the facts more
serious than they are, they need not trouble us, for I could take you far
away from every breath of evil, and as my wife it could never touch you.
So you will give yourself to me, Virgie?"
"Yes," she answered, with grave sweetness; "if papa thinks it is right, I
cannot put my cup of happiness away untasted."
Sir William Heath bent and touched the beautiful girl's lips with his
first lover's kiss.
"My beloved," he said, "life looks to me now like one long vista of
happiness—may it prove so to both of us."
They sat there beneath the shadow of the great pine for more than an hour,
wearing bright plans for the future, while the twilight gathered around
them. But as yet Sir William had not told his bethrothed who he was, nor
of the title awaiting her when she should become his wife. Somehow, he
felt strangely reluctant to do so.
Once he had spoken of his home, and Virgie looked up with sudden interest,
and asked:
"Where is your home, Mr. Heath?"
An amused smile played about his lips at her question
"My friends—that is those who love me—-call me 'Will,' there," he said,
significantly; "and surely, darling you need not treat me with so much
formality. Do not call me Mr. Heath any more, Virgie."
"Please tell me where our home is to be—Will," she said, looking up at
him with a shy smile, and blushing as the newly spoken name left her lips.
He bent and touched them fondly with his own.
"In England, love," he returned.
"England!"
"Yes. Shall you regret leaving your own country?"
"No; I think I shall be glad," Virgie answered, with a little sigh of
content and relief.
Sir William looked gratified.
"Shall I describe our home to you?" he asked, thinking that perhaps now
would be as good a time as any to tell more about himself and what her
future position would be.
"Yes, do, please."
"Well, then, imagine a large, old mansion, with many turrets and gables,
its time-worn stones grown with ivy and moss, and set in the midst of
extensive grounds, with grand, beautiful trees scattered all about. There
is a great hall in the center of the house, with spacious rooms on either
hand. At the end of this hall is the library, with two large bay-windows
overlooking a winding river, which is the pride and glory of the place,
and where we sail, and bathe, and fish during the summer months. Over the
library there is a lovely suite of rooms, commanding a wide expanse of
meadow and upland—a scene that is like a picture all the time—which will
henceforth be devoted to the use of the future lady—of Heathdale."
"Heathdale! What a pretty name!" Virgie cried, but still unsuspicious of
the title which would become hers when she should go with him as his wife
to England although he had almost given utterance to it, then hesitated,
and substituted those last two words.
"Yes, it is a pretty name, and, Virgie, the place is the pride of my
heart. At some distance from the mansion there are the stables and
kennels, where the horses and dogs abide."
"Why, Mr.——Why, Will, what an extensive establishment! You must
have——"
Virgie began in a tone of surprise, then stopped in confusion.
"Well, I must have what?" he asked.
"A great deal of money to support such a place," she replied, flushing.
"And is there anything very alarming about that?" he questioned, with a
quiet smile.
"No; but—I thought——"
"You thought that I could not have very much of this world's goods since I
had come here to work a mine," Sir William said, completing her sentence.
"But, darling, all that was only a ruse; I have been working more for my
wife than for gold."
"Will!"
"Darling, it is true; that was my only reason for becoming the purchaser
of your father's interest here. I saw you; I loved you; I must have some
good excuse for tarrying near you to try to win you, and now that I have
attained my object, the mine will have to be disposed of, as I have no
further use for it."
Virgie regarded him with astonishment. She had never suspected anything
like this.
"How strange," she said, with a beautiful flush. "I have thought it almost
unaccountable that a man like you should come here to remain. I have
imagined that you were an author or a student, and might be investigating
the formation of the mountains or studying character in order to write a
book, but I never dreamed of anything like this."
Sir William laughed heartily.
"You were making me out to be quite a lofty character truly," he said;
"and now you find your hero only a very human being after all—one who,
for the sake of a beautiful woman, has been almost willing to barter his
birthright. Have I fallen very low in your estimation, Virgie, because I
am not to become a distinguished public benefactor on account of my
research and investigation? Has my confession shocked you very much?"
"Your confession has made me a very, very happy woman." Virgie whispered,
slipping her hand confidingly into his, her heart thrilling with a tender
pride and love that this grand man should have sacrificed so much to win
her.
"And I am exceedingly proud of this happy woman," returned Sir William,
fondly. "I shall take the loveliest bride in the world back with me when
we go home to Heathdale."
"Where you will be Lady Heath my Virgie. Ah, I am very thankful that my
child will occupy so proud a position in life," said the voice of Mr.
Abbot, just behind them.
He had come out to seek them, and had approached just as Sir William
uttered those last words.
"Lady Heath!" exclaimed Virgie, starting up and turning a very astonished
face first upon one and then the other. "What do you mean? I do not
understand."
"Haven't you told her?" Mr. Abbot asked of the young man.
Sir William shook his head, with a smile.
"Told me what, papa?"
"That our friend here is Sir William Heath, of Heathdale, and an English
baronet."
Virgie stood in wondering silence for a moment, her face flushed and
drooping, while a hundred thoughts flashed through her mind.
Her lover a titled peer of England! This noble man, who might have chosen
his wife from the nobility of his own country, had concealed his identity,
had buried himself in the wilds of Nevada, and lived like a common miner
simply to win her, an humble mountain maiden. He who belonged to an
honored race, and possessed both title and wealth, had overlooked the fact
that a heavy cloud enshrouded her own and her father's name, and was
willing to lift her to the proud position of his wife and the mistress of
his beautiful home. These and many other thoughts held her speechless, and
made her tremble with something of fear that in the future he might regret
it all, and wish that he had never seen her.
"I am afraid I am not fitted—" she at length faltered.
"In point of education, Virgie, you are fitted for the proudest position
that could be offered you," her father returned, with some spirit. "All
that you need is a trifle more worldly polish, which you will readily gain
as Sir William takes you into society, and I am proud to give you to him.
God bless you both, my children."
His voice broke.
He would have been glad to go with her to the scenes of her new life, to
watch her develop in a higher atmosphere and see her happiness in her
proud position. But he knew it could not be; and overcome, for the
moment, with the thought of the separation which must soon come, he turned
abruptly away and went feebly back to the cottage.