After all, what did it matter? What would she care? It was he, the man, not the viscount, whom she loved. Yes, the gods had been good to him, notwithstanding the ruin of his prospects; for was he not loved for himself alone?
He smiled, with a sense of the irony of circumstances, when he remembered that only a few weeks ago he had congratulated himself that he had "done with women!" But at that time he had not fallen in love with Nell of Shorne Mills, and won her love; which made all the difference!
And Nell? She lay awake in a sleepless dream. Every word he had spoken came back to her like the haunting refrain of a beautiful song; the expression in his eyes, the touch of his hand—ah! and more, the kiss of his lips—were with her still. It was her first love. No man before Drake had ever spoken of love to her; it was her virgin heart which he had won; and when this is the case the man assumes the proportions of a god to the girl.
And it seemed so wonderful, so incredible, that he should have fallen in love with her, that he should have chosen her; as his queen, as his wife. She tried to draw a mental picture of herself, to account for his preference for her, and failed to find any reason for it. He had said that she was—beautiful. Oh, no—no! He must have met a hundred women prettier than she was; but he had chosen her. How strange! how wonderful! Sleep came to her at last, but it was a sleep broken by dreams—dreams in which Drake—she could think of him as "Drake"—held her in his arms and murmured his love. She could feel his kisses on her lips, her hair. Once the dream turned and twisted somewhat, and he and she seemed separated—a vague something came between them, an intangible mist or cloud which neither could pass, though they stood with outstretched hands and yearning hearts; but this dream passed, and she slept the sleep of joy and peaceful happiness.
Happiness! It is given to so few to know happiness that one would like to linger over the days which followed their betrothal. For every day was an idyl. Drake had resolved to send the horses up to London for sale; he had given Sparling notice, six months' wages, and a character which would insure him a good place; but he clung to the horses, and Nell and Dick and he had some famous rides before the nags went to Tattersall's.
And what rides they were! Dick, wise beyond his years, would lag behind or canter a long way in front; and Nell and Drake would be left alone to whisper together, or clasp hands in silent ecstasy.
And there was the Annie Laurie. To sail before the wind, with the sun shining brightly from the blue sky upon the opal sea; to hold his beloved in his arms; to feel the warmth of her lips on his; to know that in a few short weeks she would be his own, his wife!—the rapture of it made him catch his breath and fall into a rapt silence.
One day, as they were sailing homeward, the Annie Laurie speeding on a flowing tide and a favorable breeze, his longing became almost insupportable.
"See here, Nell," he said, with the timidity of the man whose every pulse is throbbing with passion, "why—why shouldn't we be married at once? I mean, what is the use of waiting?"
"Married!"