Heiress of Haddon Part 29

"And he a knight," echoed Dorothy's lover, scornfully. "As if he were aught the better for that."

"A knight is a knight," replied the lady stiffly; "and he is the son of an earl."

"And I, by the favour of fortune, am the nephew of an earl; and, moreover, Dorothy and I have plighted our troth together."

"Then you were over bold."

"I might accept your decision for myself, Lady Vernon," he said; "indeed, I had done so ere now, but Dorothy's happiness is at stake as well as mine."

"You accept it perforce, then?"

"Nay, I will abide by Dorothy's decision alone. She shall have the ruling of it, and I know what she will say."

"I must be plain with you, Master Manners," said Lady Maude, with considerable asperity. "It can never, no, never be as you desire. We have other designs for Dorothy than that she should marry a soldier of fortune. Her portion," she continued, curling her lips in scorn, "is a half of the whole estate of Haddon, which, you must admit, is no small dowry; and what have you to set against that? Your lands would not maintain yourself alone," and, having delivered herself thus, she cast a triumphant glance upon the young man who stood before her.

"I may win renown," he quickly replied.

"You possibly might," she replied, with another contemptuous curl of her lip, "but that is a shadow, a mere myth. Besides, you can put no value on fame; you cannot even live upon it."

"I have a true and loving heart, and a strong arm."

"Tut, man," she laughed; "so has every beggar. Prithee, now, as a matter of business, what have you to offer? Nothing."

"What! Surely you do not want to barter her away?" cried Manners. "Why talk of business?"

"Certainly not," she replied; "but it is our duty to make as good an alliance for her as we can. You ought to perceive that this is to her advantage, and if you care for her welfare as much as you would have us believe, you would help us to secure it for her, instead of placing her in a position which can only breed discontent and mischief," and without giving Manners time to reply she swept proudly out of the room and left him alone with his sorrow.

CHAPTER XX.

THE TROTHPLIGHT.

Yet even now it is good to think, While my few poor varlets grumble and drink, In my desolate hall where the fires sink; Of _Dorothy_ sitting glorious there, In glory of gold and glory of hair, And glory of glorious face most fair; Likewise to-night I make good cheer, Because this battle draweth near, For what have I to love or fear?

W. MORRIS (adapted).

John Manners sought out Dorothy as soon as the interview was concluded, and he was fortunate enough to find her alone.

Poor Dorothy; she had long expected this meeting, and she had tried to prepare herself to face it. Her love, subjected to such a terrible strain, had come like gold out of the refining fire. It had grown stronger and better, and as she saw her lover emerge from the room she realised for the first time how much she really loved him.

The tale was soon told, and as he poured into her ears the unwelcome tidings her tender heart was lacerated by each successive word.

"And now, my own sweet Dorothy," he concluded, "you know all. I have told thee all the pitiful story. Would to G.o.d it had been a pleasant tale I had to tell thee, but alas! I have told thee but the truth."

He looked fondly into her face, and wondered how often he would be permitted to see it more. It was deadly pale, and her lips quivered again as she endeavoured to keep them tightly closed.

"John," she murmured, "in any matter but this I should obey them; but--but----" She broke down under the mental strain. It was a terrible struggle between conflicting affections, and, unable to sustain it, she would have fallen in a faint upon the ground had not the strong arms of her lover supported her.

Manners laid her gently down upon the bank and sprinkled some water upon her, for they were on the slopes of the Wye, and in a few moments she mastered her feelings and opened her eyes.

"I am dizzy," she apologetically exclaimed, as she saw the form of her beloved bending over her. "I shall be better soon."

She fulfilled her prediction quickly, and when he would have led her back into the Hall she begged him to wait.

"Nay, nay, John," she said, "the Lady Maude will soon devise a plan for separating us, but let us remain together while we may."

"But, Doll, you are ill," he exclaimed, "and I must take good care of thee."

"I should be worse were I severed from thee," she sweetly replied, "and, John, I have somewhat to tell thee."

"Speak on then, sweet one."

"You will be true to me, John, whatever happens?" she asked.

She was timid to approach the subject, and blushed deeply at the sound of her own sweet voice. She had more than half a mind to take the words back lest they should strike a single pang into his heart, but they were spoken, and before she could enter into any explanation, he had bent down and kissed her.

"My precious darling!" he pa.s.sionately exclaimed. "I never could forget thee; thy name is written on my heart; I shall never cease to love thee. The saints forfend me, Doll. I were a miscreant indeed were I to play traitor to thy love."

"I shall trust you, John," she replied, bestowing upon him a look of undisguised affection; "I do trust thee; I shall be happy in thy love.

Whatever trouble comes I shall be happy, because I shall know your heart is trusty and true."

"That it shall be, Doll," he cried, "a right trusty heart--though they do make thee wed Edward Stanley."

"John!" she exclaimed quickly, flus.h.i.+ng scarlet again, "have I not given my troth to thee? They shall not force me into it. You can trust me."

"O, Doll. My love, my darling, it would break my heart to give thee up; but I must do it for the sake of thy happiness."

Poor heart, he spoke but the truth, but he spoke it as bravely as he could.

"Hush, John," Dorothy hastily broke in; "you must not say such things."

"Alas! you little know, my sweet one, to what misery you would consign yourself if you proved staunch to me," he continued. "This fragile form was not made to suffer, but to recline in ease," he added, as he gazed fondly at the graceful form of the maiden.

"I have recked the cost," she simply replied. "You do not doubt me, do you, John?" she asked, looking up into his troubled face.

"Doubt thee, no;" he replied, "but I would save thee from a host of sorrows."

Dorothy held her head down in silence, and seeing that she did not answer. Manners continued.

"I must be frank with you, Doll. The husband they have chosen thee may be an earl in time to come, and is a Derby to boot. He is rich, and mayhap he may love thee, too, and I--and I----"

"Stop, John, stop," she commanded. "Would you thus trifle with my love? I have seen in thee a n.o.ble heart, a kind heart, a loving heart.

I have refused many before thee. I have just refused one lord, and I shall refuse the other. You would not so dispraise yourself but to dissuade me; but you have yet to learn the constancy of a maiden's love."

"Are you resolved?" he asked, almost choked by the feelings of joy her words had caused.