“You persist? Can it be? May I still be happy!”
“Enough, Francis; you are mine! I will never forsake you; you are mine for life!”
“For life!” she repeated after me, becoming so pale that I was afraid she would faint. “Leopold, yes, I am yours; I put my trust in you, and I love you as I have never loved before—never before,” she whispered quite low.
“At last!” I cried; and pressed the first kiss of love on her lips.
I need not tell you we came in too late for luncheon. It is true we were not hungry. We returned to the house slowly, and almost in silence, and we even slackened our pace as we drew nearer the Castle. Francis, especially, seemed loath to enter.
“Let us rest on the moss at the foot of this large oak tree,” she said; “it seems to me that all my misfortunes will come back to me as soon as I enter yonder. I cannot yet separate myself from my happiness. Oh, Leopold! I wish we could fly away together, that no one might interpose between us two.”
“We will fly away, dearest; but first we must go through certain formalities which will give us the right to appear in the world as man and wife, and lift up our heads with the best of them.”
“And then will follow the breakfast, the visits, and the congratulations of mean and false people, who come with a hypocritical smile to wish us joy, whilst behind our backs they will make a mock of the man who has dared to marry Major Frank!”
“Oh, what a supposition!” I replied; “you must pay for that,” kissing her sad face into cheerfulness.
“I don’t understand,” she continued, “how people can treat so serious a subject as marriage with such lightness. The woman especially makes an immense sacrifice—her name, her will, her individual self; a sacrifice which I always considered it would be impossible for me to make, until I met you.”