What should she say to him? How inform him that all the pageantry of King George’s court, all the wealth inherited from his ancestors, was of little account in her esteem when set against eternal verities, and one of those verities was fidelity to the conviction that she must be true to herself.
“My lord,” she said, “you may think me unappreciative; you may regard me as strange, but I must be true to myself. I cannot do violence to my better nature. I cannot barter my convictions. I could honor and respect you, but something more would be your due; that I could not give you. I could not make you happy, and I should forever despise myself.”
It was spoken clearly, distinctly, but with a tremor of voice and a flush upon her cheek that heightened her beauty. Lord Upperton sat in silence, pondering her words. It was dawning upon him that a girl of the Colonies had rejected his suit. He had come to her with his castle, his ancestry, his title, his position as a peer of the realm, but she had put them all aside. Not with them could he win his suit. Instead of accepting what he had to give, she stood calm, serene, beautiful, radiant, and pure, upon a height so far above him that he never could stand by her side. The silence was embarrassing.
“Miss Newville,” he said, rising and standing before her, “your answer is painful to me. I had anticipated the winning of your hand and heart. It had not occurred to me that I should fail. I appreciate what you have said. A loftier ideal of the nobleness of true womanhood has come to me. My honor, respect, and love for you are deeper than ever, but I see that what I desired cannot be. I bid you farewell.”
She courtesied to his bow, and extended her hand. He touched it to his lips, and passed from the room.
Her head was pressing her pillow once more. The bell struck the midnight hour. Once more she heard the watchman’s voice.
“Twelve o’clock, and all is well.”
“Yes, all is well,” she said,—and her sleep for the night was calm and peaceful.