“When next I pass you by,” he said, “I shall know my fate.”
He could not rest until that letter was written; all the inspiration of his love was upon him as he wrote it; the burning words that had risen so often from his heart to his lips found life; there was no delay in the choice of his expressions. Never since Adam wooed Eve among the bowers of Paradise was love more deeply or more strongly told. A doubt must have crossed his mind once, for he said:
“If you say me nay, Hermione, I shall not importune you—a queen has the right of denial to her subject if the favor asked be too great. You have that same right over me. I shall not importune you, sweet. I shall not drag my prayer again and again to your feet to be denied; but you will mar my whole life, and change it into bitterest anguish. But I need not write this. What are the little birds singing to me? That my darling would never have let me kiss her lips until she meant to be mine.”
Hour after hour passed, and he was still writing. It seemed to him that he was in her actual presence, and the sweet, fiery words flowed on. Then, when the letter was finished, it was too large to be sent by post.
“An envelope of that size and thickness would be sure to attract attention,” he said to himself. “I will send it by a messenger.”
So his most trusty servant was dispatched to Leeholme Park, with orders to deliver the packet into Lady Hermione’s own hand, but not to wait for the answer. But Lady Hermione was not at home, and, after waiting some hours, the groom, beginning to fear Sir Ronald’s displeasure, gave it to the lady’s maid, who, duly impressed by him as to its importance, laid it on Lady Hermione’s dressing-table, feeling sure that her mistress would see it at once when she entered the room.
That same evening, keeping in mind what the groom had said to her, the maid asked her mistress if she had found the small paper parcel on her toilet-table. Lady Hermione smiled.
“Yes, I have it,” she replied, and then her maid forgot the whole matter.
All that day Sir Ronald waited impatiently for his answer. No day had ever seemed to him half so long before.
“She will send a messenger,” he said; “she will not keep me in suspense until morning.”