Randolph wrung the proffered hand.
“Indeed you may trust me to do all in my power. I love her with my whole heart. I would lay down my life to serve her.”
“As you have demonstrated already,” said the old earl, with a grave smile. “I have not thanked you for saving my child’s life. I hope in the future she will repay the debt by making your life happy, as you, I am convinced, will make hers.”
Randolph’s bronzed cheek flushed a little at these words.
“Lord Trevlyn,” he said, “to gain your goodwill and assent in this matter is a source of great satisfaction to me; but I cannot blind my eyes to the fear that Lady Monica herself, with whom the decision must rest, has not so far given me any encouragement to hope that she regards me as anything beyond a mere acquaintance and chance guest. I love her too well, I think, not to be well aware of her feelings towards me, and I cannot flatter myself for a moment by the belief that these are anything warmer than a sort of gentle liking, little removed from indifference.”
The earl’s face was full of thought.
“Monica’s nature is peculiar,” he said; “her feelings lie very deep, and are difficult to read; no one can really know what they may be.”
“I admit that; yet I confess I have little hope—at least in the present.”
“Whilst I,” said Lord Trevlyn, quietly, “have little fear.”