“And now you wonder, seeing that I am basking in the sunshine just at present, that I should wish to leave it, and sink into the mire again. I don’t wish it. If I could I would remain at the Villa Rimini, to play the part of Lady Despard’s singing man, till she grew weary, or the voice which renders me acceptable lost its novelty and became valueless. But I cannot stay. A power stronger than my will is driving me, and if you had not come back to seek for her ladyship’s bracelet, I should have gone without a word of farewell to you, who are the cause of my flight.”
Doris started and looked up at him.
“I?” she said, her brows drawn together with startled trouble.
“Yes, you, Miss Marlowe,” he said, quietly, but with something in the music of his voice that thrilled Doris. “You will listen while I try and tell you? Heaven knows, I find it hard enough. Be patient with me—oh, be patient with me!” He held out his hand with a sudden gesture of entreaty, then let it fall to his side. “How poor, how friendless, how completely alone I am, you know; but I am base enough to be proud as well, and all my life I have been prouder of nothing more than my power to repay the world’s scorn of my poverty and abjectness with my scorn for the world. I prided myself on the fact that I had no heart. For other men there might be happiness, a life shared with some one whom they loved, and who loved them in return; for me, the social outcast, the pariah, there could be no such thing as love, no hope that any woman could be found to share my poverty and my hopelessness. So I went through the world, hardening my heart, and telling myself that at least I should be spared the madness which men call love.”
He paused a moment, and looked at her downcast face, then went on:
“This was before I went to Chester Gardens. You don’t remember that night, I dare say; I shall never forget it, for it was the night upon which I first saw you—first learned that all my pride was to melt at the sight of a woman’s face, at the sound of a woman’s voice. Miss Marlowe, if I had been a wise man, I would have taken my hat and gone out of your presence never to return; but the spell was wrought, and I consented to come here in the train of Lady Despard, as her jester—her singing man. I would have come in the capacity of her footman or bootboy, if there had been no other place for me, no other way of being near you——”
Doris looked up with a pale, startled face, and made a movement to depart, but he stretched out his hand again pleadingly.
“Ah! wait! Let me finish. I fought hard against the influence which had fallen on me—fought day by day, with all my strength; but against the spell you had, all unconsciously, woven around me, fighting was of as little avail as it would be to try and stem the incoming tide. The iron had entered my soul, and I knew all at once that my heart and life were bound up in one sentiment, my intense love for you!”
Doris rose tremblingly.
“I have said it now,” he continued. “My secret is out. I love you, Miss Marlowe—I, Lady Despard’s camp follower, the jester of the Villa Rimini, have dared to love its brightest ornament!”