'Hester, ever since I first saw and knew you, it has been the great hope of my existence to make you my wife.'
Still the girl was voiceless, and felt chained to her seat.
She could feel—yea, could hear her heart beating painfully, as she had a pure regard and most perfect esteem for the young fellow by her side; and thought that to the end of her days the perfume of the lily of the valley, of stephanotis, and other plants close by would come back to memory with Malcolm's voice, the strains of Strauss, the strange atmosphere of the conservatory, and the dull sense of unreality that was over her then.
'Oh, Hester, will you not tell me that you will try to love me—to love me a little? Have you not a single word to give me?'
Passionately earnest were his handsome eyes—anxious and eager was his lowered voice and the expression of his clearly cut face. He said nothing to her, as other men might have done, of his fortune, of his estate, of his lands of Dunnimarle that overlooked the Forth, of his prospects or his future; all such items were forgotten in the present. Neither did he urge that he was going far—far away from her soon—much sooner than he had then the least idea of—to enhance his value in her eyes, or win her interest in his favour; for even that, too, he forgot.
She looked up at him with her soft, velvety, dark-blue eyes suffused, gravely and kindly; the charming little tint gone from her rounded cheeks; her whole face looking very sweet and fair, but not wearing the expression of one who listened with happiness to a welcome tale of love.
'Oh, why do you say all this to me, Mr. Skene—Malcolm I shall call you for old acquaintance' sake—why ask me to marry you?'
'Why? a strange question, Hester,' said he, a little baffled by her apparent self-possession, while tremulous with joy to hear for the first time his Christian name upon her lips.
'Yes—why?' she asked, wearily and sadly.
'Because I love you as much as it is in the nature of an honest man to love a woman.'