“Never! If she had I should have known where to find her.”
Then, as briefly as possible, for he knew time was hastening, he told of his fearful sickness, and of the little girl who took such care of him—told, too, of his weary search for her, and of the many dreary nights he had passed in thinking of her, and her probable fate.
“Then you came,” he said, “and, struggle as I would, I could not mourn for Marian Lindsey as I had done before. I was satisfied to have you here until the conviction burst upon me, that far greater than any affection I had thought I could feel for that blue-eyed girl, and tenfold greater than any love I had felt for Isabel Huntington, was my love for you. It has worn upon me terribly. Look!” And pushing back his thick brown locks, he showed her where the hair was turning white beneath. “These are for you,” he said. “There are furrows upon my face—furrows upon my heart—and can you wonder that I bade you go, and so no longer tempt me to sin? And yet, could I keep you with me, Marian? Could I hold you to my bosom just as I hold you now, and know that I had a right so to do?—a right to call you mine—my Marian—my wife? Not Heaven itself, I’m sure, has greater happiness in store for those who merit its bliss than this would be to me! Oh, why is the boon denied to me? Why must I suffer on through wretched, dreary years, and know that somewhere in the world there is a Marian Grey, who might have been my wife?”
“Let me go for Alice,” said Marian, struggling to release herself. “There is something she would tell you.”
“Yes, in a moment,” he replied; “but promise me first one thing. The news may come to me that I am free, and if it does, and you are still unmarried, will you then be my wife? Promise that you will, and the remembrance of that promise will help me to bear a little longer.”
“I do!” said Marian, standing up before him, and holding one of his hands in hers. “I promise you, solemnly, that no other man shall ever call me wife save you.”
There were tears in Frederic’s eyes, and his whole frame quivered with emotion, as, catching at her dress, for she was moving toward the door, he added:
“And you will wait for me, darling—wait for me twenty years, if it needs must be? You will never be old to me. I shall love you just the same when these sunny locks are grey,” and he passed his hands caressingly over her bright hair. There was a world of love and tenderness in the answering look which Marian gave to him as he opened the door for her to pass out, and wringing his hands in anguish, he cried to himself, “Oh, how can I give her up—beautiful, beautiful Marian Grey!”
Swift as a bird Marian flew up the stairs in quest of Alice, who was to tell the wretched man that it was not a sin for him to love the beautiful Marian Grey.
“Alice, Alice! Go now—go quick!” she exclaimed, bursting into the room.