"It is no wonder," replied Allan Lyster. "I forget everything in
speaking to you. You do well, lady, in making me remember myself."
"Do not mistake me," she said gently. "I only thought time is flying,
and I have not said yet what I promised your sister I would say."
They had walked down the orchard, and they stood now under the spreading
boughs of a large apple tree--the pink and white blossoms made the
loveliest frame for that most fair face. She was lovely as the blossoms
themselves.
"I feel like a criminal," said Allan Lyster; "and as though you were my
judge. I tremble to know what you have to say."
"Yet it is not very terrible, Mr. Lyster. Your sister is my dearest
friend, and she tells me that you are thinking of going abroad. She is
very miserable over it. She fancies she should never see you again. I
promised her that I would persuade you to stay."
His face flushed--his eyes flashed--he bent over her.
"See what little white hands yours are," he said; "yet they hold a
life--a strong man's life. If you bade me stay, I would remain though
death were the penalty. If you bade me go, I would go and never look
upon a familiar face again."
"I do not like to say go, or stay," she replied, hesitatingly. "It is a
serious thing to interfere with a man's life."
"I have dared already more than I ever dreamed of daring. I have told
how rashly I have ventured to raise my eyes to the sun--you know my
presumption. I have dared to kneel at your feet, and tell you that you
are the star of my idolatry, the source of all my inspiration. You know
that, yet you will not punish my presumption by telling me to go?"
"I will not," she replied, gently.
"Then you are not angry with me? I did not know life held such happiness
as that. You know I love you? You are not angry?"
A sudden breeze stirred the apple blossoms, and they fell like a shower
on her fair head.
"You must pardon me if I am beside myself with joy. Looking on your
face, I grow intoxicated with your beauty, as men do with rare wines.
Ah, lady! in the years to come and in the great world people may love
you; but you shall look, and look in vain, for a love so true, so deep,
so devoted as mine."
"I believe it," she replied.
"You believe it, yet you are not angry with me? You hold my life in your
hands yet will not bid me go?"
He bent over her, his handsome face was glowing, his dark eyes flashing
fire.
"I could fancy myself in a dream," he said; "it is too strange, too
sweet to be true. There must be some intoxication in these apple
blossoms. Dare I ask you one more grace?"
"I have not been very unkind," she said.
"Will you let me sometimes see you? I will not presume upon your
kindness. Your face is to me what sunshine is to flowers. Do not turn
its light from me."
"You see me at the lessons," she said.
"Pardon me, I do not. I never dare to look at you; if I did, Miss
Carleton would soon know my secret. I am an artist, practiced to admire.
I may say what in others would be simple impertinence. You look so
beautiful, Miss Arleigh, with the sunlight falling on you through the
apple blossoms. Will you let me make a picture of you, just as you are
now? I could paint it well, for my whole heart would be in the work."
"I am willing," she said.
"And you will let me keep the picture when it is finished, and once or
twice before the lovely summer fades you will come out here and see me
again?"
"Yes," she said, "I will come again."
"I shall keep those few penciled words you sent me until I die," he
said, "and then they shall be buried with me."
Allan Lyster was a wise general; he knew exactly when it was time to
retreat. He would fain have lingered by her side talking to her, looking
in her lovely face, but prudence told him that he had said enough. He
looked across at the trees and signed to his sister, unseen and unknown
to Miss Arleigh. Adelaide, quick to take the hint, joined them at once.
"I shall not show you my sketch, Allan," she said laughingly; "it will
not show well by the side of yours. Marion, we must go. Have you
accomplished my heart's desire--persuaded my brother to stay?"
"He did not want much persuasion," she replied, suddenly remembering
with surprise how little had been said about the matter.
"I hope Allan has made no blunder," thought the sister; aloud she said,
"I know it. I knew that one look from you would do all that my prayers
failed to accomplish. We must go, Marion; it is time to re-enter the
house."
"Miss Arleigh," said Allan Lyster, "when I wake to-morrow, I shall fancy
all this but a dream. Will you give me something to make me remember
that it is indeed a happy reality?"
"What shall I give you?" asked the girl.
"You have held that spray of apple blossoms in your hand all the
evening," he said, "give me that."
She laughed and held it out to him.
"Thank you," he said; "now that you have touched it it ought not to
die."
"Do all artists talk like you, Mr. Lyster?"
"When the same subject inspires them," he replied, and then Adelaide
reminded them again that time was flying, and they must be gone.
A few more minutes and the handsome young artist was walking quickly
down the high road. He had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. He
felt as sure of winning the beautiful young heiress as though he had
placed already a wedding ring upon her finger. He laughed to himself to
think how easy the task was; so easy, in fact, that he felt a touch of
contempt for that which was so easily won.
"It will be a good thing for me," he said to himself. "If I succeed,
painting may go. I shall not trouble myself about anything but spending
money. If I succeed, Adelaide shall have her reward." And he pleased
himself by thinking how, out of his forty thousands, he would give her a
fortune.
"She deserves it. She has worked hard for me, and she shall not be
forgotten."
It did not occur to him that there would arise any serious difficulty.
Of course, no steps could be taken until she was twenty-one. He could
not marry her without the consent of her guardian, and to ask for it
was, of course, nonsense. He would bind her to himself with the most
solemn of promises, and the very day she was of age they would be
married. As he walked toward his humble lodgings he amused himself by
thinking what he should do when he became master of Hanton Hall. No
sentiment troubled Allan Lyster; he could make love in any style he
liked to anyone who suited him. As to any remorse over the girl his
sister had betrayed and they had both deceived, he felt none.
"How do you like him, Marion?" asked Adelaide Lyster, as the two walked
home.
"He is very handsome and very clever," was the grave reply.
"Add to that--he is more deeply in love than any man ever was yet," said
Miss Lyster, laughingly. "Marion, he worships you--his love is something
that frightens me."
Miss Arleigh avowed that it was true.
"He will go home," continued Adelaide, "and instead of going to sleep
like a sensible man, he will walk about all night, composing grand poems
about you."
"Does he write poetry?" asked Marion, with increased admiration.
"He is a poet and artist both," said his sister, with a little touch of
pride that amused the heiress.
That was Miss Arleigh's first interview with her admirer, the second
was, he assured her, for the sake of the picture--the third, that he
might see how the picture was going on--the fourth, that she might see
it completed--the fifth, because she found the flattery of his love so
irresistible she could no longer do without it--the sixth, because she
began to fall in love with him herself--and then she lost all count, she
lived for those interviews, and nothing else.
"I want to impress one thing upon you," said Adelaide to her brother;
"bear it always in mind. When you think you have made sufficient
advances in her favor to ask her to marry you, do not rest satisfied
with her spoken word, make her write it. It will be of no use to you
unless you do that."
"Explain a little further, my wisest of sisters," said Allan.
"A written promise of marriage is the only security a man has. Women
change like the wind, without rhyme or reason. But if you have her own
word pledged to you, her promise of marriage written so that there shall
be no mistake, then it will be worth a fortune to you."
"Even if she should refuse to fulfil"--
"You are not very worldly wise, Allan," said his sister with the
slightest tinge of contempt in her voice. "If she fulfils it, all well
and good. The very fact of having written it keeps a girl true when she
should otherwise be false. But if she refuses to keep it, the remedy
then is in your own hands."
"And that remedy is"--he began, but she interrupted him quickly.
"The remedy is, of course, an action at law; or what would be far more
efficacious in her case, holding her letters as a means of getting money
from her. A proud woman will sacrifice any amount of wealth rather than
have such a thing known."
Marion Arleigh fell easily into the plot laid by those she considered
her best friends.