CHAPTER VI.
"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.