The Hoyden Part 7

A s.h.i.+ver runs through Rylton. Is she true or false? But, however it goes, how exquisite she is!

"And now your question," says she; "how slow you are to ask it. Now _what_ is it?--what--what?"

"Shall I ask it, Marian? I have asked it too often before."

He is holding her arms very tightly now, and his eyes are bent on hers. Once again he is under the spell of her beauty.

"Ask--ask what you will!" cries she. She laughs gaily, and throws back her head. The last rays of the sunlight catch her hair, and lift it to a very glory round her beautiful face. "Go on, go on,"

she says lightly. There is, perhaps, some defiance in her tone, but, if so, it only strengthens her for the fight. "I am your captive!"

She gives a little expressive downward glance at his hands, as he holds her arms. "Speak, my lord! and your slave answers." She has thrown some mockery into her tone.

"I am not your lord," says Rylton. He drops her arms, and lets her go, and stands well back from her. "That is the last part a.s.signed to me."

Mrs. Bethune's gaze grows concentrated. It is fixed on him. What does he mean? What is the object of this flat rebellion--this receding from her authority? Strength is hers, as well as charm, and she comes to the front bravely.

"Now what _is_ it?" asks she, creeping up to him again, and now slipping her arm around his neck. "How have I vexed you? Who has been saying nasty little things about me? The dear mother, eh?"

"I want no one to tell me anything, but you."

"Speak, then; did I not tell you I should answer?"

"I want an answer to one question, and one only," says Rylton slowly.

"That is modesty itself."

"Will you marry me?"

"Marry you?" She repeats his words almost in a whisper, her eyes on the ground, then suddenly she uplifts her graceful form, and, lazily clasping her arms behind her head, looks at him. "Surely we have been through this before," says she, with a touch of reproach.

"Many times!" His lips have grown into a rather straight line.

"Still I repeat my question."

"Am I so selfish as this in your eyes?" asks she. "Is it thus you regard me?" Her large eyes have grown quite full of tears. "Is my own happiness so much to me that for the sake of it I would deliberately ruin yours?"

"It would not ruin mine! Marry me, Marian, if--you love me!"

"You know I love you." Her voice is tremulous now and her face very pale. "But _how_ can we marry? I am a beggar, and you----"

"The same!" returns he shortly. "We are in the same boat."

"Still, one must think."

"And you are the one. Do you know, Marian"--he pauses, and then goes on deliberately--"I have been thinking, too, and I have come to the conclusion that when one truly loves, one never calculates."

"Not even for the one beloved?"

"For no one!"

"Is love, then, only selfishness incarnate?"

"I cannot answer that. It is a great mixture; but, whatever it is, it rules the world, or should rule it. It rules _me_. You tell me--you are for ever telling me--that marriage with you, who are penniless, would be my ruin, and yet I would marry you. Is _that _selfishness?"

"No; it is only folly," says she in a low, curious tone.

Maurice regards her curiously.

"Marian," says he quickly, impulsively, "there are other places. If you would come abroad with me, I could carve out a fresh life for us--I could work for you, live for you, endure all things for you.

Come! come!"

He holds out his hands to her.

"But why--why not wait?" exclaims she with deep agitation. "Your uncle--he _cannot_ live for ever."

"I detest dead men's shoes," returns he coldly. Her last words have chilled him to his heart's core. "And besides, my uncle has as good a life as my own."

To this she makes no answer; her eyes are downbent. Rylton's face is growing hard and cold.

"You refuse, then?" says he at last.

"I refuse nothing, but----" She breaks off. "Maurice," cries she pa.s.sionately, "why do you talk to me like this? What has changed you? Your mother? Ah, I know it! She has set her heart on your marriage with this--this little _n.o.body_, and she is poisoning your mind against me. But you--_you_--you will not forsake me for her!"

"It is you who are forsaking me," returns he violently. "Am I nothing to you, except as a medium by which you may acquire all the luxuries that women seem ready to sell their very souls for? Come, Marian, rose above it all. I am a poor man, but I am young, and I can work. Marry me as I am, and for what I am in your sight, and seek a new life with me abroad."

"It is madness," says she, in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. For a short, _short_ minute the plan held out to her had tempted her, but something stronger than her love prevailed. She could wait--she _would;_ and she is so sure of him. He is her own, her special property. Yes! she can afford to wait. Something must occur shortly to change the state of his affairs, and even if things come to the very worst--there are others. "I tell you," says she, "that I will not spoil your life. Your uncle--he would be furious if you married me, and----"

Rylton put her somewhat roughly from him.

"I am tired of that old excuse," says he, his tone even rougher than his gesture. He turns away.

"Maurice!" says she sharply--there is real anguish in her tone, her face has grown white as death--"Maurice, come back." She holds out her arms to him. "Oh--darling, do not let your mother come between us! That girl--she will _make_ you marry that girl. She has money, whereas I--what am I? A mere castaway on life's sea! Yes, yes." She covers her face with her hands in a little paroxysm of despair.

"Yes," faintly, "you will marry that girl."

"Well, why not?" sullenly. He is as white as she is--his face is stern. "If she will deign to accept me. I have not so far," with a bitter laugh, "been very successful in love affairs."

"Oh! _How_ can you say that--and to me?"

She bursts into tears, and in a moment he has her in his arms. His beautiful darling! He soothes her, caresses her, lets her weave the bands of her fascination over him all fresh again.

It is only afterwards he remembers that through all her grief and love she had never so forgotten herself as to promise to exile herself for his sake in a foreign land.

CHAPTER V.

SHOWING HOW, WHEN PEOPLE DO CONGREGATE TOGETHER, MUCH KNOWLEDGE MAY BE FOUND, AND HOW THE LITTLE HOYDEN HAD SOME KIND THINGS SAID ABOUT HER.