"No, no!" she breathed, scarcely knowing what she said, and she let the flower drop into her lap.
The prince's face grew grave and pained.
"Have—have I offended you?—have I been too presumptuous?" he asked, humbly.
"No, no!" she said, again. Then she looked up. "Presumptuous, your highness? You! to me! The presumption would be mine if I—if I were to accept——" she paused.
"Do I understand you?" he said, drawing nearer, his handsome, patrician face flushing, his eyes seeking hers with an eager intentness. "Miss Leslie, my poor flower would be honored by the touch of your hand; will you honor me also by wearing it? Miss Leslie——" he paused a moment, then went on—"I do not think you understand. Shall I tell you now, or are you too tired and wearied? I think you must know what I would say. Such love as mine will break through all guards, try as we will to hide it, and proclaim itself to the beloved one——"
Margaret started to her feet with a wild horror in her eyes.
"Do not—speak another word!" she breathed. "I—I cannot listen! I—take me back, please, your highness!"
The prince's face paled, and his lips shut tightly; but with the courtly grace which could not forsake him, even at such a moment, he took her hand and drew it through his arm.
"Your lightest word is law to me," he murmured. "I will say no more—to-night; but I must speak sooner or later. But no more to-night! Not one word, be assured. You may trust me, if you will not do more!"
Margaret was speechless, her heart throbbing with a dreadful amazement and horror. That he—the great prince—should have spoken to her—to her upon whose life rested so dark a shame, almost maddened her.