"Then prove this, my egoist, prove it!"
"But sir--sir," I stammered, nonplussed by his words and the piercing look that accompanied them, "how--in what manner would you have me do this?"
"By forgetting yourself in your love for her! By foregoing awhile your present joys for her future good. Give her into my care for two years."
"My lord!" I exclaimed aghast. "I--indeed I do not understand."
"Peregrine, G.o.d has bestowed on her a mind capable of great things--a wonderful voice. Place her in my charge for two years--I am solitary and very rich--she shall see the world and its wonders; I will have her educated, bestow on her all the refinements that great wealth can command. Nature has given her a glorious voice, Art shall make her a great singer. Forego your present happiness for her future good and your gipsy maid shall become a great lady and a peerless woman. Do this, Peregrine, and here, truly, shall be love indeed."
Now at this I was silent a long while, staring down blindly at the hurrying waters of the brook; glancing up at last, I found him regarding me with his keen, bright eyes and was struck anew by the strength of his personality, his resolute face with its indomitable mouth and chin, his serene air of dignity and a.s.sured power.
"She would be safe with me, Peregrine," said he gently, "secure from every evil--and from every chance of molestation."
"I know that, sir."
"She would be cherished and loved as sacredly as--my own daughter--might have been."
"I am sure of it, sir--and yet--"
"Well, Peregrine?"
"Two years, sir," I faltered. "It--it is an age--"
"You are both children, Peregrine, but in two years, as I understand, you will be of age, a man, master of your fortune--and she a woman, clever, accomplished and perhaps famous."
"And may have forgotten me!"
"Do you think so, Peregrine?"
"No!" said I. "No!"
"Nor do I, boy. Such as she, being deep and reverent of soul, do not love lightly, and never forget. On the contrary, with her growing knowledge and experience, surely her love for you will grow also; it must do. If she loves you to-day, child of nature as she is, how much greater will be her capacity for love as an educated woman, knowing that it is to your unselfishness, first and foremost, that she owes so very much?"
After this was silence again wherein I watched my companion disjoint his fishing rod.
"Sir," said I at last, "yours is a very n.o.ble and generous offer--"
"Tush!" he exclaimed a little sharply. "I am a solitary old man who yearns for a daughter."
"Sir, in less than a fortnight is--the day--our wedding day--"
"Then," said his lordship, rising, "G.o.d"s blessing on that day, Peregrine, and on each of you."
"You ask of me a very great thing, sir!" I groaned.
"Indeed, yes, Peregrine, so very great that only the greatest love could possibly grant it."
Long after the Earl had limped away, I sat crouched beside the stream, my head bowed between clasping hands, blind and deaf and unconscious of all else but the tempest that raged within me, a wild confusion of doubt and fearful speculation with a pa.s.sionate rebellion against circ.u.mstance, and a growing despair. Gradually these chaotic thoughts took form, marshalling themselves against each other, so that it seemed as two voices argued bitterly within me, thus:
THE FIRST VOICE. To give up Diana for two long, weary years--
THE SECOND VOICE. But for Diana"s sake!
THE FIRST VOICE. To forego the joys of Diana"s companionship for two, empty, desolate years.
THE SECOND VOICE. But for Diana"s own future good!
THE FIRST VOICE. Why should Love demand such thing of any lover?
THE SECOND VOICE. Because he boasted his love beyond all other. Was it but an idle boast?
THE FIRST VOICE. No lover would ever do such thing!
THE SECOND VOICE. Except he be indeed greatly true and most unselfish.
THE FIRST VOICE. Diana would never leave me.
THE SECOND VOICE. Never, even though it were the pa.s.sion of her life!
For truly a woman"s love is ever more unselfish than a man"s.
THE FIRST VOICE. She loves me too much to endure such parting.
THE SECOND VOICE. She loves you so much she would endure even this to become your comrade as well as wife, to fit herself that she may take her place beside you in your world, serene and a.s.sured, to become the woman you can revere for her intellect and refinement.
THE FIRST VOICE. All this I can teach her, all this she shall acquire after marriage.
THE SECOND VOICE. Never! She will devote herself to you rather than to herself.
THE FIRST VOICE. Howbeit, I love her well enough as she is--
THE SECOND VOICE. O selfish lover! And what of the future? You cannot live out your life in her world of the Silent Places, and in your world your gipsy maid will find small welcome or none.
THE FIRST VOICE. Then her world shall be mine also--
THE SECOND VOICE. O foolish lover! Think you she shall not grieve that by her love you should lose caste--
THE FIRST VOICE. She need never know--
THE SECOND VOICE. The eyes of a loving woman are marvellous quick to see.
THE FIRST VOICE. Then Love shall comfort her.
THE SECOND VOICE. Yet still must be her dark hours. Is two years so long a time?
THE FIRST VOICE. Too long! In two years she may find a thousand new interests to come between us. In two years she may meet with dashing gallants richer, higher placed, more versed in knowledge of women and far more intellectual than myself, who am but what I am. So, having won her to my love, what folly to let her go--to be wooed perchance by others.
THE SECOND VOICE. O most despicable lover! Will you be content to win a maid through and because of her ignorance of all other wooers better placed than your poor self?