Morton had risen and was standing before her with folded arms.
“Miss Helène,” he said in a low voice, “will you let me tell you what else happened to me during the few weeks between my meeting with your father and my leaving for home?”
The words were simple enough; but the man’s face wore so strange an expression that Helène was filled with trepidation. She could barely stammer her assent and stared helplessly into space.
“Miss Helène,” Morton was pale now and his voice had gained an impassioned vigor. She felt she dared not look at him. “Miss Helène, when I met your father—I also met his daughter—by means of a portrait which has since never left its place near my heart.”
The girl’s lips formed as if to whisper, but no sound passed through them.
“A voice in me spoke to me, and said ‘this is the woman of your dreams,’ and I exultantly obeyed the call. When I met you in Padina my dream woman was surpassingly realized. And during the days that came after, when I saw you, hour after hour, so brave, so loyal, so good, my heart went out to you. All my manhood cried out to protect you, and all my soul desired to worship you. On that memorable morning in the Transylvanian cottage, when I stood near you and held your hand, I almost forgot your distress and came near opening my heart to you. And in Vienna when at parting you spoke those words of friendship and approval, it was all I could do to hold myself back. I left determined to come back to Weimar and speak to you; but you had flown. Oh, how I have searched for you! But I had to be content with your letter and its promise for the autumn. I have lived on that promise—and no man ever longed for autumn as I did! Helène, I am not a youth to be caught by a beautiful face. I am a ripened man tried by the fire of life. When I met you, face to face yesterday, I knew it was the answer to my prayers. I know now what love is—true, ennobling love. Helène, I love you. Will you not look at me? Speak to me, Helène!”
Deeply agitated, she raised her eyes, which shone with the bliss of a revelation, to the impassioned man towering over her. Her lashes were wet with tears they had tried to hide. Then a mischievous little smile parted the lips as she whispered:
“I am still a minor—what does my dear guardian command?”
Morton gave a quick step forward and gathered her into his arms. Her face was hidden in his breast; she was safe in the harbor at last! He held her for some moments when a timid voice muffled in the folds of his coat came up to him:
“Mr. Morton—did you say those words because you pity me—because of your promise to my father?”