"You remember the old song, Madaline?
"'I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.'
If I could be false to the dead, Madaline, I should be untrue to the living. That I am not so is your security for my faith. If I could be false to the traditions of my race, I could be false to my vows of love."
"I can say no more--I can urge no more. You are a man--wise, strong, brave. I submit."
It was a cruel fate. He looked round on his pictured ancestors Would they have suffered, have sacrificed as much for the honor of their house as he was about to sacrifice now? Yes, he knew they would, for love of race and pride of name had always been unspeakably dear to them.
Chapter XXVIII.
Lord Arleigh raised his head from his breast. His wife was kneeling sobbing at his feet.
"Norman," she said, in a broken voice, "I yield, I submit. You know best, dear. In truth, I am not worthy to be your wife. I urge no claim on you; but, my darling, must I leave you? You are the very light of my life, heart of my heart, soul of my soul--must I leave you? Could I not remain here as your servant, your slave, the lowliest in your house--somewhere near, where I may hear the tones of your voice, the sound of your footsteps--where I may stand sometimes at the window and see you ride away--where I may render you little attentions such as loving wives render? Oh, Norman, be merciful and grant me that at least!"
"My darling, I cannot--do not tempt me. You do not understand I love you with a fierce, passionate love. If you were near me, I should be compelled to show that love to you every hour of the day--to treat you as my dear and honored wife. If you were near me, I might forget my resolves and remember only my love."
"No one should know," she whispered, "that I was your wife. I should take the guise of the humblest servant in the place. No one should know, love. Oh, darling, let it be so!"