"You have carpeted the ground for me with rose leaves which these little hands have wantonly spoiled," he said with his usual gallantry. "O, Lillian, how cruel you are!"
"Do not George; I want to talk with you! I have spent a sleepless night trying to summon sufficient resolution for this interview. I feel that you deserve some share of my confidence at least, and it is sweet to know that after all this struggling I can give it to you."
"And I shall be glad to receive it, although I have a presentiment that it is my death doom!"
She bowed her head and her white lips touched his forehead. "I love you, George, with the purest sisterly affection, and in my poor heart your sorrows will ever find a sympathetic response. I feel that I shall give you pain by what I must say, and God knows how gladly I would save you from it if it was in my power. But bear with me; I have long loved another! You have surmised it—I now confess it! I was not yet fifteen when I met and loved Pearl Hamilton. You remember the time I went north to school? He was a Philadelphian by birth and a nobler, truer heart never beat! Could you see him George you would not blame me for what I did! I was a child—a petted, spoiled child! My wishes had never been disputed and why should they be then? In a very few weeks I became his wife. Do not look at me so wildly! It is all true—I am a wife!"
"Lillian, why have you deceived the world and me so long? Why did you not tell me this three years ago when I returned from Europe? Had you done so I would have spared you all of the torment my repeated proffers of love must have caused; and it might have been had I known the truth at that time less bitter for me to-day. But I will not chide you." The young man had risen to his feet while speaking and paced to and fro the full length of the arbor.
"Come and sit by me," she pleaded; "I have not yet finished." He obeyed. "It was not my fault, George, that you did not know all at the time, but let me continue my narrative. It will not detain you long. I was married, not however without the approbation of my aunt, with whom I resided. As soon as it was over a sudden fear took possession of me. I did not dare tell my mother. For the first time in all my life I had acted without her approval, and now I was fearful of her displeasure. It came at last. After much persuasion from my husband and friends I told her all. One bright day when Pearl was absent from home my aunt sent for me. I obeyed the summons, and there met my mother after a separation of more than a year. Her greeting was cold, her manner stern and commanding. It seems that she had been in the city three days, and during that time had accumulated legal documents sufficient to prove to me, at least, that as neither of us was of age our marriage was null and void. Her words overpowered me. But I will not picture the scene that followed. I was a child again obedient to her will. We left the city before the return of my husband, and I have never seen him since. I have written many letters, but have received none in return. Only once have I heard that he yet lived. My aunt wrote that he stood very high in the estimation of the people and remained true to his boyish vows. That letter was not intended for my eyes, but they saw it, and my heart responded to his fidelity. Thus to-day you find me what I am. Now, tell me, George, do you hate me for what I have done? I had not the power to break away from the injunction laid upon me. My mother said that in time I would not only regret but forget, my folly, and would thank her for placing me in a position to marry some one equal to myself. O George, think of these long years I have carried this aching, desolate heart. My whole being has seemed enervated. But this fresh proffer of your love has aroused me. I am a woman, and there is injustice in all this. You are good and noble; for this reason I have confided in you, breathed into your ear words that were never before spoke by me."
"Thank you! But, Lillian, what proof has your aunt that he remains true to his early vows? Do you think any earthly power could keep me from you were you my wife? And yet you tell me that you have not received one answer to your many letters."
"Did I not also tell you that there was injustice in all this? And more—I am fully convinced that there has been and now is a criminal wrong being enacted of which I am the subject."
"It cannot be! O Lillian! henceforth I am your friend and your brother. Command me at all times, and I am your obedient servant. Henceforth my country only shall be my bride. I will wed her with good faith. I will suffer, I will die for her. But you will be my sister, Lillian. Call me Brother. Let that appellation, at least, fall from those sweet lips like the refreshing dew, for I feel that my heart is withering, and then I must go. I came to bid you farewell. New duties are calling me, and I am glad that it is so."
"God bless you, my brother," came like low, plaintiff music to his ear.