“Do not fear what I may think. He said a wrong had been done to me, but if it has not affected me heretofore, it surely will not now—and I loved him well enough to forgive anything. Let me have the letter, won’t you?”
“Marian,” and Frederic trembled with strong emotion, “the night my father died, I laid my hand upon his head and promised that you should not see that letter until you were a bride.”
“A bride!” Marian exclaimed passionately, “I shall never be a bride—never—certainly not yours!” and the little hands worked nervously together, while she continued. “I asked you to forget that whim of your father’s. He did not mean it—he would not have it so, and neither would I,” and Frederic Raymond could almost see the angry flash of the blue eyes turned so defiantly toward him.
Man-like he began to feel some interest now that there was opposition, and to her exclamation “neither would I,” he replied softly, “Not if I wish it, Marian?”
The tone rather than the words affected the young girl, thrilling her with a new-born delight; and laying her hand again upon the desk, she sobbed afresh, not impetuously, this time, but steadily, as if the crying did her good. Greatly she longed for him to speak again, but he did not. He was waiting for her, and drying her tears, she lifted up her face, and in a voice which seemed to demand the truth, she said: “Frederic, do you wish it? Here, almost in the room where your father died, can you say to me truly that you wish me to be your wife?”
It was a perplexing question, and Frederic Raymond felt that he was dealing falsely with her, but he made to her the only answer he could—“Men seldom ask a woman to marry them unless they wish it.”
“I know,” returned Marian, “but—do—would you have thought of it if your father had not first suggested it?”
“Marian,” said Frederic, “I am much older than yourself, and I might never have thought of marrying you. He, however, gave me good reasons why I should wish to have it so—in all sincerity I ask you to be my wife. Will you, Marian? It seems soon to talk of these things, but he so desired it.”
In her bewilderment Marian fancied he had said, “I do wish to have it so,” but she would know another thing, and not daring to put the question to him direct, she said, “Do men ever wish to marry one whom they do not love?”
Frederic understood her at once, and for a moment felt strongly tempted to tell her the truth, for in that case he was sure she would refuse to listen to his suit and he would then be free, but his father’s presence seemed over and around him, while Redstone Hall was too fair to be exchanged for poverty; and so he answered, “I have always loved you as a sister, and in time I will love you as you deserve. I will be kind to you, Marian, and I think I can make you happy.”