He did not finish the sentence. He was on his knees, kissing the hem of her dress.
She stared at him in a trance of amazement and at that moment a voice sounded from the room across the passage.
"Rachel, be that ye? Why don't ye come in here?"
Simon Hart rose to his feet. "Let me help you, Rachel."
She moved her lips, though no sound passed them. He threw his hands on her shoulders and his eyes into the depths of hers. "I ask nothing that you cannot give," he said with mournful softness. "I know that you do not—love me—but later, if you became my wife—"
She shook her head, trying to twist free.
"If you were my future wife," he amended, "I could give your grandfather every care."
He had struck the right note.
Perceiving it, desperately he followed up his advantage. Later he would feel shame, but not now with her frightened breath on his face and her lips so close. His gentleness was transformed into boldness. Love wrought madness in him who had never before known its mystery or its power.—"He should lack for nothing."
At that moment her grandfather's voice, high-pitched, querulous, sounded from the other room.