“There is no mercy in love—when scorned, as you have scorned mine.”
“I have not scorned it. You ask what is impossible.”
“No,” suddenly rejoined Scarthe, conceiving a hope from the gentle character of the reply. “’Tis not impossible. I expect not the firstlings of your heart. Alas! for me, they are gone. I can scarce hope for even a second love; though I should do everything within the power of man to deserve it. All I ask for is the opportunity to win you, by making you my wife. O, Marion Wade!” he continued, adopting a more fervent form of speech, “you have met with a man—never before gainsayed—one who has never wooed woman in vain—even when wearing a crown upon her brow. One, too, who will not be thwarted. Heaven and earth shall not turn me from my intent. Say you will be mine, and all will be well. Reflect upon the fearful issue that must follow your refusal. I await your answer. Is it yes, or no?”
Having thus delivered himself, the impetuous lover commenced pacing to and fro—as if to allow time for the reply.
Marion, on rising from her supplicating attitude, had withdrawn to the window. She stood within its embayment—her back turned towards that dark type of humanity—her eyes upon the blue heaven: as if there seeking inspiration.
Was she hesitating as to her answer? Was she wavering between her father’s life, and her own happiness—or rather, might it be said, her life-long misery? Did the thought cross her mind, that her unhappiness, springing from the defection—the deception—of her lost lover—could scarce be increased either in amount or intensity; and that the sacrifice she was now called upon to make could add but little to a misery already at its maximum?
Whether or no, may never be revealed. Marion Wade can alone disclose the thoughts that struggled within her soul at that critical moment.
Scarthe continued to pace the floor, impatiently awaiting her decision. Not that he wished it to be given on the instant: for he believed that delay would favour him. A sudden answer might be a negative, springing from passion; while fear for her father’s fate—strengthened by reflection—might influence her to agree to his proposal.
At length came the answer, or what Scarthe was compelled to accept as one. It came not in words; but in a cry—at once joyous and triumphant!
Simultaneous with its utterance, Marion Wade extended her arms; and, flinging open the casement, rushed out into the verandah!