“WAS EVER MAIDEN IN THIS HUMOR WOOED?”
“I have heard--or dreamed it, maybe--
What love is when true;
How to test and how to try it
Is the gift of few.
Only a true heart can find it,
True as it is true;
Only eyes so clear and tender
Look it through and through.
“I have seen a love whose patience
Never turned aside,
Full of tender, fond devices,
Constant even when tried.
Tell me, then, do you dare offer
This true love to me?
Neither you nor I can answer;
We will--wait and see.”
Viola’s heart throbbed strangely as she caught the meaning of her
companion’s passionate speech, but to save her life she could not utter
a word. She was overpowered by a sudden bashfulness, as if she had
provoked the declaration by too eager encouragement. In the gloom of
the night she felt her cheeks burn like fire.
Rolfe Maxwell remained silent too for a moment, as if startled at
his own presumptuousness, then, seeing she would not speak, continued
vehemently:
“Am I too bold? Believe me, I love you ardently, but I should never
have dared to tell you so, only--only--to help you, if you so choose,
out of the--difficulty--which troubles you so greatly. I am poor, and I
have nothing to offer you but a true heart and an untarnished name. But
if you will marry me, Viola--may I call you that?--I will toil as never
man toiled before to win fame and fortune for my darling.”
He paused, breathless, his splendid eyes shining down upon her with
mingled hope and fear, lest she should upbraid him for his boldness.
But still Viola paced slowly by his side along the gloomy street, past
the long rows of frowning red-brick houses without a word, and he took
heart of grace to continue gravely:
“Do not answer until you look clearly into the future. If you go home
now and reconcile yourself to your trouble, it will soon blow over, and
you may perhaps soon become reconciled to your lover and be happy. On
the other hand, if you marry me, your father will perhaps be offended
beyond forgiveness; he will disinherit you, and you will suffer the
hardships of a poor man’s wife, without the sweet, wifely tenderness
that would make your lot bearable, unless in time you could learn to
love me.”
He heard a long, quivering sigh, but no word, and he went on gently:
“I would be very patient, and not try to force your love, dear. I have
an offer to go to Cuba to the seat of war as reporter for a leading
newspaper here, and I would accept it and go away at once, leaving you
here in my humble home with my dear, kind mother and my sweet cousin
Mae, an orphan girl who lives with us. I know they would love you for
my sake, and while I was away, your heart might grow toward me by the
magnetic force of my own passion, till at last we were drawn together
by mutual love.”
The eloquent voice paused, and Viola said, low and very faintly:
“How good you are to me.”
He had hardly dared hope that she would accept him, perhaps he knew it
was best she should not, yet her words chilled his heart.
“But you refuse me?” he asked, in a broken voice.
To his joy and surprise her small hand eagerly pressed his arm, and she
answered very low:
“No, I will marry you, and I thank you for your offer, for it is the
best way out of my trouble, and will help me to revenge myself on
Philip and Florian.”
It was not a very flattering acceptance, he felt--not a word for
himself, but only a note of rejoicing for her triumph that was to
be gained by making a bridge of another man’s heart to reach her
longed-for revenge.
She added in a moment, bitterly:
“I do not believe that either one of them has ceased to love me, and
when they come to their senses and find out I am married to another,
they will suffer all the pangs they caused my heart.”
And she laughed hollowly at her prospective revenge.
“May Heaven help me to win your heart, Viola, and show you the
difference between true love and false! And now, as it is getting late,
perhaps we had better seek a minister to marry us.”
She started, laughed hysterically, but answered, eagerly:
“Yes.”
“Is there any minister you prefer?”
“No,” carelessly.
“Then we will go to the rectory of All Souls’ Church; it is only about
two blocks from here. Doctor Meade is a friend of mine, and will make
no difficulty about performing the ceremony. Then we will write out the
notice we desire for the morning papers, and he will have it sent to
the offices while I take you to my home.”
They paused at the steps of the rectory, and he said, tenderly:
“It is not too late to draw back yet, Viola.”
“There is no drawing back for me!”
And the newspapers next morning gayly chronicled the elopement.
“SOCIETY BELLE ELOPES.
“VAGARIES OF A BEAUTY.
“The Daughter of a High Official in Washington, the Handsomest Girl
in Society, a Charming Coquette Who has Refused Scores of Eligible
Men, Jilts a Distinguished Member of Congress on the very eve of Her
Bridal, and Elopes with a Poor Young Man!
“Fashionable society, which expected to get on its best togs today for
the grand noon-wedding of Congressman Desha and the lovely Miss Van
Lew, will stand aghast at learning that the marriage is off.
“The lovely coquette, assuming the prerogative of lovely woman to
change her mind, left the prospective bridegroom in the lurch last
evening, and eloped with a poor young journalist, Rolfe Maxwell, whom
she secretly preferred.
“The marriage ceremony was solemnized last evening at the rectory
of All Souls’ Church, by the genial rector from whom these facts
were gleaned by our busy reporter. It is understood that the jilted
bridegroom is _désolé_, and _père_ Van Lew furious and unforgiving;
but as the capricious bride inherits on her marriage the fortune of
her deceased mother, she can afford to snap her fingers at the irate
papa.”