features. A lump rose inhis throat, and in his eye there was a suspicion of a tear.
"Was she like me?" Liane asked softly, still holding her father's handand looking up at him.
"Yes, darling," he replied. "Sometimes when you look at me I shrinkfrom you because your eyes are so like hers. She was just your age whenI married her."
There was a long and painful silence. The hearts of father and daughterwere too full for words. They were indeed an incongruous pair. He wasa reckless gamester, a cunning adventurer, whose career had more thanonce brought him within an ace of arrest, while she, althoughprematurely versed in the evil ways of a polyglot world, where the lawsof rectitude and morality were lax, was nevertheless pure, honest andgood.
"But, dear old dad, why may I not marry George?" she asked when, afterthinking deeply over the truth regarding her parentage, her mindreverted to thoughts of the man she loved.
"I cannot sufficiently explain the reason now," he answered vaguely."Some day, when I am aware of all the facts, you shall know."
"But I can love no other man," she exclaimed decisively, with eyesdowncast.
"You know my wish, Liane," her father answered rather coldly. "I feelsure you will endeavour to respect it."
"I cannot, father! I really cannot!" she cried starting up. "Besides,you give me no reason why I should not marry."
"I am unable to explain facts of which I am as yet unaware," he said,withdrawing his hand.
"We love each other, therefore I cannot see why you should object."
"I do not doubt that there is affection between you, but my objection iswell based, I assure you, as some day you will be convinced."
"Have you any antipathy against George personally?"
"None whatever; I rather like him," he said. "I only tell you in plain,straightforward terms that your marriage with him is impossible,therefore the sooner you part the better;" and opening the door, heslowly left the room.
Deep in thought, Liane stood leaning against the table, in the sameposition as Zertho had stood when he had asked the captain for her hand.Evidently her father entertained some deep-rooted prejudice against theStratfields; nevertheless, after calm reflection, she felt confidentthat sooner or later she could over-rule his objection, and persuade himto adopt her view, as she had done on previous occasions without number.
On the following afternoon a double funeral attracted hundreds ofpersons to the churchyard of Stratfield Mortimer, where Nelly Bridsonwas laid to rest in a plain grave, beneath a drooping willow, and thebody of Sir John Stratfield, fourteenth baronet, was placed in thefamily vault, among his ancestors. When the interments were over,George met Liane and managed to whisper a few words to her. It was anappointment, and in accordance with his request, she went at sundownalong the chestnut avenue to the Court, and was at once shown to thelibrary, where her lover awaited her.
Her mourning became her well. His quick eyes detected that her blackdress, though not new, bore the unmistakable cut of the fashionabledressmaker. Her figure, perfect in symmetry, was shown to advantage byher short, French corset, and the narrow band of black satin that begirther slim waist.
"I have to offer my apologies to you, dearest," he said, when theservant had closed the door. "At the inquest I was bound to openlyconfess that we had met clandestinely."
"What apology is needed?" she asked, smiling. "We love each other, andcare nothing for what the world may think."
"That is true," he answered, deep in thought. "But I--I have anannouncement to make to you, which I fear must cause you pain."
"An announcement! What?"
"I must leave you."
She stood before him, looked quickly into his face, and turned pale.
"Leave me!" she gasped.
"Yes. I find, alas, I am compelled to go."
"And only the day before yesterday you asked me to become your wife!"she cried, reproachfully. "What have I done that you should treat methus?"
"Nothing. You have done nothing, Liane, only to fascinate me and holdme irrevocably to you," he answered, looking earnestly into her clear,beautiful eyes. He paused. His soul was too full for utterance. Thenat length he said, "I have asked you here this evening to tell youeverything, for when I leave here, I fear it will be never to return."
"Why?" she asked, looking him full in the face, with a puzzledexpression.
"Because I am not wealthy, as is generally believed," he replied,colouring deeply as he met her searching gaze. "It is useless todeceive you, therefore I must tell you the hideous truth. My father hasthought fit to leave his whole fortune to my brother, and allow me to gopenniless. I am therefore unable to marry."
Liane's lips had grown white with fear and astonishment. "And that isthe reason you now intend to forsake me!" she gasped.
He bowed his head.
She passed her hand over her eyes. Her soul was in a tumult. She, too,fondly wished to believe that he actually loved her, to trust theevidence of what she saw. His words were a trifle ambiguous, and thatwas sufficient to fill her with uncertainty. Jealous of that delicacywhich is the parent of love, and its best preserver, she checked theoverflowings of her heart, and while her face streamed with tears,placed her hand protestingly upon his arm.
"Forgive me!" he cried with increased earnestness. "I know I havewronged you. Forgive me, in justice to your own virtues, Liane. Inwhat has passed between us I feel I ought to have only expressed thanksfor your goodness to me; but if my words or manner have obeyed the morefervid impulse of my soul, and declared aloud what should have been keptsecret, blame my nature, not my presumption. I am ruined, and I darenot look steadily on any aim higher than your esteem."
"Ah! do not speak to me so coldly," the girl burst forth passionately."I cannot bear it. You said you loved me," and she sobbed bitterly.
"I have loved you, dear one, ever since we first met," he answeredquickly. "I love you now, even better than my life. But alas! amysterious fate seems to govern both of us, and we are compelled topart."
"To part!" she wailed. "Why?"
"Ere long my brother will come to take possession of this place, for itis no longer my home," he answered, in a low, pained tone. "I shall goaway to London and try to eke out a living at the Bar. For a young manwithout means the legal profession is but a poor one at best," hesighed; "therefore marriage being out of the question, I am compelled totell you the plain honest truth, and release you."
"Release me!" she echoed wildly. "I do not desire release. I love you,George."
"But you do not love me sufficiently to wait through the long, dark daysthat are at hand?" he cried, surprised at her passionate declaration!"Remember, I am penniless, without hope, without prospects, withoutanything save my great affection for you!"
The slanting rays of the sunset streaming through the stained glass fellupon her, gilded her hair, and illumined her anxious face with a halo oflight. She looked lovely, with her dark eyelashes trembling, her softeyes full of love, and the colour of clear sunrise mounting on hercheeks and brow.
"Wealthy or poor," she answered, in a low, sweet tone, "it matters not,because I love you, George."
"And although we must part; although I must go to London and exchangethis free, open, happy life with you daily beside me for the dustydinginess of chambers wherein the sun never penetrates, yet you willstill remain mine?" he cried half doubtingly. "Do you really mean it,Liane?"
"I do," she answered, in a voice trembling with emotion, and with a lookall tenderness and benignity. "It is no fault of yours that you arepoor, therefore be of stout heart, and when you return to Londonremember that one woman alone thinks ever of you, because--because sheloves you."
With the large tears in her beautiful eyes--tears which seemed to him torise partly from her desire to love him with the power of his love--sheput her pure, bright lips, half-smiling, half-prone to reply to tears,against his brow, lined with doubt and eager longing.
"Dearest darling, love of my life," he w
hispered through her clouds ofsoft, silky hair. "I know I, an Englishman, with my blunt manners, mustgrate upon you sometimes, with your delicate, high-strung feelings. Weare as different as the day is from the night. But, Liane, if truth andhonesty, and a will so to use my life as to become one of the realworkers and helpers in the world--a wish to be manly and upright, strongof heart, and clean of conscience before God and man--if these can atonefor lack of culture and refinement, then I hope you will not find mewanting. When I am absent there will be plenty besides me to love you,but I will not believe that any can love you better than I do, or few
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