He spoke with earnestness, for he knew he was deceiving the young girl, and in his inmost soul he determined to repair the wrong by learning to love her, as she said:
“And suppose I refuse you, what then?”
Marian spoke decidedly, and something in her manner startled Frederic, who now that he had gone thus far, did not care to be thwarted.
“You will not refuse me, I am sure,” he said.—“We cannot live together here just as we have done, for people would talk.”
“I can go away,” said Marian, mournfully, while Frederic replied,
“No, Marian, if you will not be my wife, I must go away; Redstone Hall cannot be the home of us both, and if you refuse I shall go—soon, very soon.”
“Won’t you ever come back?” asked Marian, with childish simplicity; but ere Frederic could answer, the door suddenly opened and old Dinah appeared, exclaiming as her eye fell upon them, “For the dear Lord’s sake, if you two ain’t settin’ together in the dark, when I’ve done hunted everywhar for you,” and Dinah’s face wore a very knowing look, as setting down the candle she departed, muttering, something about “when me and Philip was young.”
The spell was broken for Marian, and starting up, she said, “I cannot talk any more to-night. I’ll answer you some other time,” and she hurried into the hall, where she stumbled upon Dinah, who greeted her with “Ain’t you two kinder hankerin’ arter each other, ’case if you be, it’s the sensiblest thing you ever done. Marster Frederic is the likeliest, trimmest chap in Kentuck, and you’ve got an uncommon heap of sense.”
Marian made no reply but darted up the stairs to her room, where she could be alone to think. It seemed to her a dream, and yet she knew it was a reality. Frederic had asked her to be his wife, and though she had said to herself that she would not marry him even if he knelt at her feet, she felt vastly like revoking that decision! If she were only sure he loved her, or would love her; and then she recalled every word he had said, wishing she could have looked into his face and seen what its expression was. She did not think of the letter in her excitement.—She only thought of Frederic’s question, and she longed for some one in whom she could confide. Alice, who always retired early, was already asleep, and as her soft breathing fell on Marian’s ear, she said, “Alice is much wiser than children usually are at six and a half. I mean to tell her,” and, stealing to the bedside, she whispered, “Alice, Alice, wake up a moment, will you?”
Alice turned on her pillow, and when sure she was awake, Marian said impetuously, “If you were me, would you marry Frederic Raymond?”