“Yes; that you will entrust your future to my keeping: that you will come with me to England and be the Countess Courtenay.”
The sound of this name gave her a sweeter sensation of pleasure than any she had yet felt.
“And you will marry me, knowing so little of me?” “I see you to be beautiful, and I know you to have a sweet, lovable nature—what more can I desire?”
He turned her happy glowing face upward to his own, kissed it again, and softly stroked her hair. She thrilled at his caresses, finding it the most natural thing in the world to nestle in his arms.
“I never realised till now,” he said, gazing downwards upon her face, “the full force of the poet’s words—
‘When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye.’
“What a pretty hand yours is!” he continued, taking it in his own. “Snow, thou art not so white, after all. Will you hold it up for me?”
And Marie the next instant found her finger encircled with a ring.