“Cannot! And why, in Heaven’s name?”
“My lord, that is my secret. I can never, never be your wife. Choose some one worthier of you, and forget Maude Percy.”
She tried to steady her voice, but a stifled sob finished the sentence.
For all answer he gathered her in his strong arms, and her head dropped on his shoulder.
“My poor little romantic Maude, what is this wonderful secret?” he said, smiling. “Tell me, and we will see if your mountain does not turn out a molehill after all. Now, why cannot you be my wife?”
“You think me weak and silly, my lord,” she said, raising her head somewhat proudly, and withdrawing from his retaining arms; “but there is a reason, one sufficient to separate us forever—one that neither you nor any living mortal can ever know!”
“And you refuse to tell this reason? My father and yours are eager for this match; in worldly rank we are equals; I love you passionately, with all my heart and soul, and still you refuse. Maude, you never loved me,” he said, bitterly.
Her pale sweet face was bent in her hands now, and large tears fell through her fingers.
“Maude, you will not be so cruel,” he said, with sudden hope. “Only say I may hope for this dear hand.”
“No, no. Hope for nothing but to forget one so miserable as I am. Oh, Lord Ernest! there are so many better and worthier than I am, who will love you. I will be your friend—your sister, if I may; but I can never be your wife.”