Dorothea did not venture to make a reply. The young man continued—
“Till I found you, Dorothea, I had never loved a woman. When I was a boy I was too shy to seek their society, and as I grew up I became accustomed to consider them as creatures of a different nature, incapable of entering into my feelings, or sharing my mystic views of life. But when I came to the lodge that first day by accident, and saw you, I realised for the first time that something was wanting in my life, and, as the days and weeks passed on, I discovered that what I had missed was worth more than all that I possessed, and that my life till then had been a gloomy wilderness like this dark valley shut in among its lonely mountains. Dorothea, they say that our race is under a curse, that there is no member of the House of Astolf who may not sooner or later find himself stricken down in the midst of his power and pleasures, and confined in a gloomy cell. I have seen my father’s fate, and my uncle Otto’s, and ever since I was a boy that fearful dread has dogged my steps, and been beside me night and day. And I have sought to drown it in all sorts of distractions, and to withdraw myself from all strangers’ eyes, and bury myself alone with one or two whom I could trust, and where I could move about freely, without feeling that there were eyes upon me which were the eyes of spies, watching and waiting for the first indication to enable them to cast a net around me, and strangle me without remorse. All that is what I have borne, and am still bearing, and it has weighed me down, and made me unlike other men, so that I have sometimes feared that my fate would be like a prophecy fulfilling itself, and the very dread of madness would drive me mad. But to-night, under the influence of my love for you, I feel a different being, I know that I am strong enough to fight and overcome this haunting enemy, I know that I never shall be mad while I love you, and you love me.”
He stopped, too deeply moved to proceed. Dorothea drooped her golden head, like a buttercup filled with rain, and sighed softly to herself.
Presently he regained calmness enough to go on.
“But, Dorothea, there is one thing greater than love, and that is truth. I am afraid—afraid to ask you if you love me. Oh, if you did, if you could tell me truly that you loved me, it would be better for me than if yonder lake were turned into silver, and yonder castle into gold, better than if all the kings and emperors of the earth came here to resign their crowns into my hand, better than if an enchanter’s wand smote the earth to sleep, and bound the wheels of time in fetters of light, and bade this hour last for ever!”
Dorothea opened her lips like one who breathes with pain, but her voice froze in her throat.
“Yet believe me,” went on Maximilian, in tones of exquisite tenderness, “that I would not have you give me any false hopes. If you cannot yet make up your mind whether you love me, tell me so, and I will wait. But if you have made up your mind, and know you can never love me, tell me that, and though I shall never cease to love you, I will go away and persecute you no more. Perhaps it will still be in my power to make you happy. Perhaps your nature can never really find itself at home in this life of Courts, but only in some quiet nook where you will be able to live the life from which I selfishly dragged you, and where in time you may come to forget that your peace was ever troubled by the love of mad King Maximilian.”
A large tear took shape in Dorothea’s eye, and fell heavily upon the arid surface of the sand. She turned and answered her lover.
“You are too good to me, Sire—”
“No, not that! After this hour you must call me Maximilian for the rest of our lives, whatever happens.”