CHAPTER XI.
More than once was Marion Arleigh tempted to break that solemn promise, and tell all to Lady Ridsdale. She longed to do so—the fact of being blamed would not prevent her, she felt that she deserved it—but she was one of those who are most scrupulous in keeping a promise once given. Of one thing she was quite resolved—she would write to Allan and tell him this clandestine engagement must come to an end. She could not bear the burden of the secret any longer, neither could she possibly fulfil the contract. She found on examining her own heart that she did not love him, and a marriage without love was absurd.
She told him she would always be his friend, that she should look upon his advancement in life as her especial care; she should always remember him, with the most grateful affection; but as for love, all notion of it must be considered at an end. And, she wrote still further, she could not blame herself for this, because she felt that her youth and inexperience excused her. She should always remember the claim that Adelaide and himself had upon her, and she was always his sincerely affectionate friend, Marion Arleigh.
Allan Lyster was not altogether surprised at the receipt of this letter; he had anticipated some such blow. He went with it at once to his friend and counsellor, his sister.
"It seems to me," he said, "that there is an end of the whole business—a dead failure."
"Nothing of the kind," she replied. "Now you see the value of my advice over documentary evidence; these letters of yours are a fortune in themselves."
"I do not see it," he replied, gloomily.
"Men are not gifted with much foresight," said Adelaide Lyster. "Let us consider. She has pledged her word, over and over again in those letters, to marry you."
"She has done so," he replied.