“Now, Mistress Marion Wade,” apostrophised he, as he watched the advancing figure. “On thine answer there is much depending: your father’s head and my happiness. I hope you will be gracious, and give security to both. If you refuse me, then must I make use of that power, with which a lucky chance has provided me. Surely thy father’s danger will undo your objections? If you resist, let the ruin fall—let him suffer his doom!”
“I must dismount and meet her,” he continued, as he saw Marion coming on with slow steps. “A declaration in the saddle would never do. It must be made on foot—or still more humbly on bended knee; and so shall it, if that be necessary to secure success. Ha! ha! what would they say at Court? The invincible Scarthe, who has made conquest of a queen, kneeling in humble suit at the feet of a country maiden—the daughter of a rank rebel—begging for her heart, and worse still, bargaining for her hand! Ha! ha! ha!”
While uttering this laugh, he flung himself from his horse; and, tossing the rein of his bridle over the branch of a tree, he commenced descending the hill.
Although advancing towards the interview, with all the nonchalance he was capable of assuming, he was at the same time trembling with apprehension as to the result.
He met the maiden at the bottom of the hill—under the sombre shadow of the chestnuts.
He encountered a look of cold surprise, accompanied by a simple nod of recognition.
Such a reception might have turned him from his purpose; but it did not. He had made up his mind to propose; and, without much circumlocution, he proceeded to carry out the intention.
“Mistress Marion Wade!” said he, approaching her with an air of profound respect, and bowing low as he drew near, “if you be not offended by my intruding upon you at this early hour, I shall thank the fate that has favoured me.”
“Captain Scarthe, this interview is unexpected.”
“By me it has been sought. I have been for some time desirous of an opportunity to speak with you alone.”