Was there some strange, magnetic attraction between Lord Arleigh and
Madaline, or could it be that the _valet_, knowing or guessing the state
of his master's affections, gave what he no doubt considered a timely
hint? Something of the kind must have happened, for Madaline, unable to
sleep, unable to rest, had risen in the early morning, while the dew was
on the grass, and had gone out into the shade of the woods. The August
sun shone brightly, a soft wind fanned her cheeks.
Madaline looked round before she entered the woods. The square turrets
of Verdun Royal rose high above the trees. They were tall and massive,
with great umbrageous boughs and massive rugged trunks, the boughs
almost reaching down to the long, thick grass. A little brook went
singing through the woods--a brook of clear, rippling water. Madaline
sat down by the brook-side. Her head ached for want of sleep, her heart
was stirred by a hundred varied emotions.
Did she love him? Why ask herself the question? She did love him--she
trembled to think how much. It was that very love which made her
hesitate. She hardly dared to think of him. In her great humility she
overlooked entirely the fact of her own great personal loveliness, her
rare grace and gifts. She could only wonder what there was in her that
could attract him.
He was a descendant of one of the oldest families in England--he had a
title, he was wealthy, clever, he had every great and good gift--yet he
loved her; he stooped from his exalted position to love her, and she,
for his own sake, wished to refuse his love. But she found it difficult.
She sat down by the brook-side, and, perhaps for the first time in her
gentle life, a feeling of dissatisfaction rose within her; yet it was
not so much that as a longing that she could be different from what she
was--a wish that she had been nobly born, endowed with some great gift
that would have brought her nearer to him. How happy she would have been
then--how proud to love him--how glad to devote her sweet young life to
him! At present it was different; the most precious thing that she could
give him--which was her love--would be most prejudicial to him. And just
as that thought came to her, causing the blue eyes to fill with tears,
she saw him standing before her.
She was not surprised; he was so completely part and parcel of her
thoughts and her life that she would never have felt surprised at seeing
him. He came up to her quietly.
"My darling Madaline, your face is pale, and there are tears in your
eyes. What is the matter? What has brought you out here when you ought
to be in-doors? What is the trouble that has taken away the roses and
put lilies in their place?"
"I have no trouble, Lord Arleigh," she replied. "I came here only to
think."
"To think of what, sweet?"
Her face flushed.
"I cannot tell you," she answered. "You cannot expect that I should tell
you everything."
"You tell me nothing, Madaline. A few words from you should make me the
happiest man in the world, yet you will not speak them."
Then all the assumed lightness and carelessness died from his manner. He
came nearer to her; her eyes drooped before the fire of his.
"Madaline, my love, let me plead to you," he said, "for the gift of your
love. Give me that, and I shall be content. You think I am proud," he
continued; "I am not one-half so proud, sweet, as you. You refuse to
love me--why? Because of your pride. You have some foolish notions that
the difference in our positions should part us. You are quite
wrong--love knows no such difference."
"But the world does," she interrupted.
"The world!" he repeated, with contempt. "Thank Heaven it is not my
master! What matters what the world says?"
"You owe more to the name and honor of your family than to the world,"
she said.
"Of that," he observed, "you must allow me to be the best judge."
She bowed submissively.
"The dearest thing in life to me is the honor of my name, the honor of
my race," said Lord Arleigh. "It has never been tarnished and I pray
Heaven that no stain may ever rest upon it. I will be frank with you,
Madaline, as you are with me, though I love you so dearly that my very
life is bound up in yours. I would not ask you to be my wife if I
thought that in doing so I was bringing a shadow of dishonor on my
race--if I thought that I was in even ever so slight a degree tarnishing
my name; but I do not think so. I speak to you frankly. I know the story
of your misfortunes, and, knowing it, do not deem it sufficient to part
us. Listen and believe me, Madaline--if I stood with you before the
altar, with your hand in mine, and the solemn words of the marriage
service on my lips, and anything even then came to my knowledge which I
thought prejudicial to the fame and honor of my race, I should without
hesitation ask you to release me. Do you believe me?"
"Yes," she replied, slowly, "I believe you."
"Then why not trust me fully? I know your story--it is an old story
after all. I know it by heart; I am the best judge of it. I have weighed
it most carefully; it has not been a lightly-considered matter with me
at all, and, after thinking it well over, I have come to the conclusion
that it is not sufficient to part us. You see, sweet, that you may
implicitly believe me. I have no false gloss of compliments. Frankly, as
you yourself would do, I admit the drawback; but, unlike you, I affirm
that it does not matter."
"But would you always think so? The time might come when the remembrance
of my father's----"
"Hush!" he said, gently. "The matter must never be discussed between us.
I tell you frankly that I should not care for the whole world to know
your story. I know it--the duke and duchess know it. There is no need
for it to be known to others; and, believe me, Madaline, it will never
be and need never be known--we may keep it out of sight. It is not
likely that I shall ever repent, for it will never be of any more
importance to me than it is now."
He paused abruptly, for her blue eyes were looking wistfully at him.
"What is it, Madaline?" he asked, gently.
"I wish you would let me tell you all about it--how my mother, so gentle
and good, came to marry my father, and how he fell--how he was tempted
and fell. May I tell you, Lord Arleigh?"
"No," he replied, after a short pause, "I would rather not hear it. The
duchess has told me all I care to know. It will be better, believe me,
for the whole story to die away. If I had wished to hear it, I should
have asked you to tell it me."
"It would make me happier," she said; "I should know then that there was
no mistake."
"There is no mistake, my darling--the duchess has told me; and it is not
likely that she has made a mistake, is it?"
"No. She knows the whole story from beginning to end. If she has told
you, you know all."
"Certainly I do; and, knowing all, I have come here to beg you to make
me happy, to honor me with your love, to be my Wife. Ah, Madaline, do
not let your pride part us!"
He saw that she trembled and hesitated.
"Only imagine what life must be for us, Madaline, if we part. You would
perhaps go on living with the duchess all your life--for, in spite of
your coyness and your fear, I believe you love me so well, darling,
that, unless you marry me, you will marry no one--you would drag on a
weary, tried, sad, unhappy existence, that would not have in it one
gleam of comfort."
"It is true," she said, slowly.
"Of course it is true. And what would become of me? The sun would have
no more brightness for me; the world would be as a desert; the light
would die from my life. Oh, Madaline, make me happy by loving me!"
"I do love you," she said, unguardedly.
"Then why not be my wife?"
She drew back trembling, her face pale as death.
"Why not be my wife?" he repeated.
"It is for your own sake," she said. "Can you not see? Do you not
understand?"
"For my sake. Then I shall treat you as a vanquished kingdom--I shall
take possession of you, my darling, my love!"
Bending down, he kissed her face--and this time she made no resistance
to his sovereign will.
"Now," said Lord Arleigh, triumphantly, "you are my very own, nothing
can separate us--that kiss seals our betrothal; you must forget all
doubts, all fears, all hesitation, and only say to yourself that you are
mine--all mine. Will you be happy, Madaline?"
She raised her eyes to his, her face bedewed with happy tears.
"I should be most ungrateful if I were not happy," she replied; "you are
so good to me, Lord Arleigh."
"You must not call me 'Lord Arleigh'--say 'Norman.'"
"Norman," she repeated, "you are so good to me."
"I love you so well, sweet," he returned.
The happy eyes were raised to his face.
"Will you tell me," she asked, "why you love me, Norman? I cannot think
why it is. I wonder about it every day. You see girls a thousand times
better suited to you than I am. Why do you love me so?"
"What a question to answer, sweet! How can I tell why I love you? I
cannot help it; my soul is attracted to your soul, my heart to your
heart, Madaline. I shall be unwilling to leave you again; when I go away
from Verdun Royal, I shall want to take my wife with me."
She looked at him in alarm.
"I am quite serious," he continued. "You are so sensitive, so full of
hesitation, that, if I leave you, you will come to the conclusion that
you have done wrong, and will write me a pathetic little letter, and go
away."
"No, I shall not do that," she observed.
"I shall not give you a chance, my own; I shall neither rest myself nor
let any one else rest until you are my wife. I will not distress you now
by talking about it. I shall go to the duchess to-day, and tell her that
you have relented in my favor at last; then you will let us decide for
you, Madaline, will you not?"
"Yes," she replied, with a smile; "it would be useless for me to rebel."
"You have made some very fatal admissions," he said, laughingly. "You
have owned that you love me; after that, denial, resistance, coyness,
shyness, nothing will avail. Oh, Madaline, I shall always love this spot
where I won you! I will have a picture of this brook-side painted some
day. We must go back to the house now; but, before we go, make me happy;
tell me of your own free will that you love me."
"You know I do. I love you, Norman--I will say it now--I love you ten
thousand times better than my life. I have loved you ever since I first
saw you; but I was afraid to say so, because of--well, you know why."
"You are not afraid now, Madaline?"
"No, not now," she replied; "you have chosen me from all the world to be
your wife. I will think of nothing but making you happy."
"In token of that, kiss me--just once--of your own free will."
"No," she refused, with a deep blush.
"You will, if you love me," he said; and then she turned her face to
his. She raised her pure, sweet lips to his and kissed him, blushing as
she did so to the very roots of her golden hair.
"You must never ask me to do that again," she said, gravely.
"No," returned he; "it was so remarkably unpleasant, Madaline, I could
not wish for a repetition;" and then they went back to the house
together.
"Norman," said Madaline, as they stood before the great Gothic porch,
"will you wait until to-morrow before you tell the duchess?"
"No," he laughed, "I shall tell her this very day."