"I hope I have not startled you," he said. "I am so glad to find you here, Miss Darrell. There is something I wish to say to you."
Perhaps that beautiful, calm night-scene had softened her; she turned to him with a smile more gentle than he had ever seen on her face before.
"You want to tell me something—I am ready to listen, Captain Langton. What is it?"
He came nearer to her. The sweet, subtle perfume from the flowers at her breast reached him, the proud face that had always looked proudly on him, was near his own.
He came one step nearer still, and then Pauline drew back with a haughty gesture that seemed to scatter the light in her jewels.
"I can hear perfectly well," she said, coldly. "What is it you have to tell me?"
"Pauline, do not be unkind to me. Let me come nearer, where I may kneel at your feet and pray my prayer."
His face flushed, his heart warmed with his words; all the passionate love that he really felt for her woke within him. There was no feigning, no pretense—it was all reality. It was not Darrell Court he was thinking of, but Pauline, peerless, queenly Pauline; and in that moment he felt that he could give his whole life to win her.
"Let me pray my prayer," he repeated; "let me tell you how dearly I love you, Pauline—so dearly and so well that if you send me from you my life will be a burden to me, and I shall be the most wretched of men."
She did not look proud of angry, but merely sorry. Her dark eyes drooped, her lips even quivered.