"I am old enough to be your father!" he exclaimed; "but, Serena, old as I am, my heart is young. Life is a dreary waste to me—alone. Serena, will you marry me?"
It was said; the words for which Serena Lynne had listened and hoped for so long, the magic words which would change all her life for her; the question was asked at last for which she had schemed and plotted, and which she sometimes had despaired of ever hearing; the question whose answer would bring her wealth, a grand home, and an honored name. She caught her breath with a tremulous gasp, and one hand pressed her heart convulsively.
"Mr. Dane," she cried, "you do not mean it! You should not trifle with a lonely woman; it is cruel, unkind."
And she knew perfectly well, artful Serena, that this delicate flattery would be the very shortest cut to the old man's heart; that to imply his possession of the powers of attracting and winning the admiration of women would be the surest road to Bernard Dane's affections. In short, by appealing to his masculine vanity, guileless Serena hoped to gain her desire. She laid her hand upon his arm as she spoke, and pressed it gently. The old man's eyes rested upon her pale, sad face, which for once wore a look of gentle tenderness, which made her appear essentially womanly in the old man's eyes. He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips.
"I mean it, of course," he returned, in a faltering voice. "I have not cared for any one in years, but your kindness has opened my heart and made me feel that there is something on earth worth living for. I ask you once more, Serena, in all honor, will you be my wife? Marry me at once, and we will go abroad for a time; for nothing can be done for poor Beatrix by staying here; and Keith's life, poor boy, is ruined. Will you be my wife, Serena?"
She bowed her head, and one little, potent word of three letters was spoken—a word which made Serena Lynne the promised wife of old Bernard Dane.
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
KEITH HEARS THE NEWS.