"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 d.u.c.h.ess 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 repet.i.tion;" 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 d.u.c.h.ess?"
"No," he laughed, "I shall tell her this very day."
Chapter XXII.
It was almost noon before Lord Arleigh saw Philippa, and then it struck him that she was not looking well. She seemed to have lost some of her brilliant color, and he fancied she was thinner than she used to be. She had sent for him to her _boudoir_.
"I heard that you were inquiring for me, Norman," she said. "Had you any especial reason for so doing?"
"Yes," he replied, "I have a most important reason. But you are not looking so bright as usual, Philippa. Are you not well?"
"The weather is too warm for one to look bright," she said, "much sunshine always tires me. Sit down here, Norman; my room looks cool enough, does it not?"
In its way her room was a triumph of art; the hangings were of pale amber and white--there was a miniature fountain cooling the air with its spray, choice flowers emitting sweet perfume. The fair young d.u.c.h.ess was resting on a couch of amber satin; she held a richly-jeweled fan in her hands, which she used occasionally. She looked very charming in her dress of light material, her dark hair carelessly but artistically arranged. Still there was something about her unlike herself; her lips were pale, and her eyes had in them a strange, wistful expression.
Norman took his seat near the little conch.
"I have come to make a confession, Philippa," he began.
"So I imagined; you look very guilty. What is it?"
"I have found my ideal. I love her, she loves me, and I want to marry her."
The pallor of the lovely lips deepened. For a few minutes no sound was heard except the falling of the spray of the fountain and then the d.u.c.h.ess of Hazlewood looked up and said:
"Why do you make this confession to me, Norman?"
"Because it concerns some one in whom you are interested. It is Madaline whom I love, Madaline whom I wish to marry. But that is not strange news to you, I am sure, Philippa."
Again there was a brief silence; and then the d.u.c.h.ess said, in a low voice:
"You must admit that I warned you, Norman, from the very first."
He raised his head proudly.
"You warned me? I do not understand."
"I kept her out of your sight. I told you it would be better for you not to see her. I advised you, did I not?"
She seemed rather to be pleading in self-defense than thinking of him.
"But, my dearest Philippa, I want no warning--I am very happy as to the matter I have nearest my heart. I thank you for bringing my sweet Madaline here. You do not seem to understand?"
She looked at him earnestly.
"Do you love her so very much, Norman?"
"I love her better than any words of mine can tell," he said. "The moment I saw her first I told you my dream was realized--I had found my ideal. I have loved her ever since."