“And now, at last, May, I ask you to be an old man’s wife,” he said. “Yours shall be no life of slavery; but there, you have known me long, and for some time past,” he said tenderly; “I have not been without hope that you loved me in return.”
“Mr Brough,” sobbed May, throwing herself on her knees at his feet, “I do love you, I have loved you ever since I was a child—loved you as one should love a dear father. Have I not often come to you with my girlish troubles; but you surely never can mean this—you cannot wish what you say? How can I be your wife, when you know how long—how long—O, Frank, Frank, Frank!” she cried, with a wail of despair that seemed to thrill through her suitor’s heart, and raising her in his arms he kissed her tenderly—as lovingly as might a father—and placed her on a sofa at his side, drawing her nearer to him in spite of a slight resistance, as he tried to whisper a few words in his endeavour to soothe the fierce burst of despair that shook the poor girl’s frame.
“There, May—my child,” he said at last, “try and command yourself,” when a thought seemed to strike him, and, though evidently troubled and reluctant, he rose to go, tenderly taking leave of the weeping girl.
But before he could reach the door, May had him by the hand.
“Dear Mr Brough,” she said beseechingly, “I cannot think that you would wish to make me unhappy for life.”
“Indeed, no,” he said gently, as he held both her hands in his. “I would devote my life to making you happy.”
“But you know—for some time—Mr Frank Marr—”
Then the recollection of what she had heard and seen that morning seemed to flash across her brain, scathing her as it passed, and with a wild look she sought to withdraw her hands, but they were fist held.
“Nay, my child,” said Mr Brough tenderly, “I love you too well to wish to give you pain. I would sooner suffer myself than cause a pang to your gentle little heart. Show me that Frank Marr is worthy of you—that is, that your father’s words which he told me were either untrue, or that he had been deceived; tell me, in fact, that by waiving my claims I can give you happiness, and I will do so, and at once, even though—” His voice trembled as he spoke, and then he added hastily: “But you are much agitated; I will go. Only one question before a painful subject is buried for ever—Are you aware that Frank Marr was with your father this morning?”
May bowed her head, for the words would not come.