“Yes, it is lovely,” said Rufus, fixing his gaze upon the young girl, as if he meant his remark to apply to her face. “How the time has sped since I first saw you, Miss Neva. Life was very dark to me in those July days, but you have given it a glow and brightness I did not dream that it could ever possess. It seems to me that I never existed until—until I knew you. You cannot fail to know that I love you. I have often thought that you have purposely encouraged my suit. But be that as it may, I love you more than all the world, Miss Neva. Will you be my wife?”
He waited in a breathless suspense for her reply.
Neva’s face did not flush with joy, as it might have done had the speaker been Lord Towyn. She looked very grave, and into her eyes of red gloom came a sadness that was terrible to see.
“I like you, Rufus,” she said gently, looking beyond him with a strange, far-seeing gaze. “I believe you to be good and honorable—would to God I did not—for then—then—Rufus, I do not know what to say to you. What shall I answer you?”
“Say Yes,” pleaded Rufus, with the energy of a gathering terror. “Do not refuse me, Neva, I implore you. I am not handsome and titled like Lord Towyn; I am plain and awkward, but I love you with all my soul. I place my fate in your hands. I have it in me to become great and good, and if you will be my wife I will be noble for your sake. But if you cast me off, I shall perish. In you are centred all my hopes. Oh, Neva, I beseech you to be merciful to me, and to save me from the utter misery of a life without you. I cannot—cannot live if you cast me off!”
He spoke with an earnestness that went to Neva’s soul. She trembled, as if the burden of responsibility laid upon her were too heavy to be borne. In her uplifted eyes was a wild, beseeching look, as if she called upon her father from his home in heaven to aid her now.
“Remember,” said Rufus desperately, “you are deciding upon my life or death—mortal and physical!”
Neva read in the declaration an awful sincerity that made her shudder.
“I must think,” she faltered. “I cannot decide so suddenly. Give me a week, Rufus—only a week in which to decide. Oh,” she added, under her breath, with a passionate emphasis, “if papa only knew! He would have spared me this.”
Rufus assented to the delay with a beaming face. If she had intended to refuse him, he thought, she would have done so on the spot. But she had not refused him, and there was hope. She should be his wife, and he would be master of Hawkhurst yet.