第72章

"Beatrice," said he, "I must speak with you. Pray come with me, away from all these people. I can bear this suspense no longer."

She looked at him, and would have refused; but she saw in his face that which compelled obedience. For Lord Airlie had watched Gaspar Laurence--he had watched the dance and the interview that followed it. He saw the softened look on her face, and it half maddened him. For the first time in his life Lord Airlie was fiercely jealous. He detested this fair-haired Gaspar, with his fund of German romance and poetry.

Could it be that he would win the prize he himself would have died to secure? What was he saying to her that softened the expression on her face? What had he said that left her standing there with a tender light in her dark eyes which he had never seen before? He could not bear the suspense; perhaps a ball room might not be the most appropriate place for an offer of marriage, but he must know his fate, let it be what it might. He went up to her and made his request.

"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, suddenly, for Lord Airlie had walked rapidly through the suite of rooms, crowded with people, and through the long conservatory.

"We are not alone," he replied. "See, Lady Laurence and Mr. Gresham prefer the rose garden here to those warm rooms. I must speak with you, Miss Earle. Let me speak now."

They stood in the pretty garden, where roses of varied hues hung in rich profusion; the air was heavy with perfume. The moon shone brightly in the evening sky; its beams fell upon the flowers, bathing them in floods of silver light.

A little rustic garden seat stood among the sleeping roses; and there Beatrice sat, wondering at the strong emotion she read in her lover's face.

"Beatrice," he said, "I can bear it no longer. Why did Gaspar Laurence bend over you? What was he saying? My darling, do you not know how I love you--so dearly and so deeply that I could not live without you? Do you not know that I have loved you from the first moment I ever beheld you? Beatrice, my words are weak.

Look at me--read the love in my face that my lips know not how to utter."

But she never raised her eyes to him; the glorious golden light of love that had fallen upon her dazzled her.

"You must not send me from you, Beatrice," he said, clasping her hands in his. "I am a strong man, not given to weakness; but, believe me, if you send me from you, it will kill me. Every hope of my life is centered in you. Beatrice, will you try to care for me?"

She turned her face to his--the moonlight showed clearly the bright tears in her dark eyes. For answer she said, simply:

"Do not leave me--I care for you now; my love--my love--did you not know it?"

The sweet face and quivering lips were so near him that Lord Airlie kissed the tears away; he also kissed the white hands that clasped his own.

"You are mine--my own," he whispered, "until death; say so, Beatrice."

"I am yours," she said, "even in death."

It was a stolen half hour, but so full of happiness that it could never fade from memory.

"I must go," said Beatrice, at length, unclasping the firm hand that held her own. "Oh, Lord Airlie, how am I to meet all my friends? Why did you not wait until tomorrow?"

"I could not," he said; "and you perhaps would not then have been so kind."

He loved her all the more for her simplicity. As they left the garden, Lord Airlie gathered a white rose and gave it to Beatrice. Long afterward, when the leaves had become yellow and dry, the rose was found.

They remained in the conservatory a few minutes, and then went back to the ball room.

"Every waltz must be mine now," said Lord Airlie. "And, Beatrice, I shall speak to Lord Earle tonight. Are you willing?"

Yes, she was willing. It was very pleasant to be taken possession of so completely. It was pleasant to find a will stronger than her own. She did not care how soon all the world knew that she loved him. The only thing she wondered at was why he should be so unspeakably happy.