Anne Hereford: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

I looked at him. He saw that I would have asked why.

"Because we ought not: it would not be right. There are dark clouds hanging over Chandos: should they open, it would be to hurl down desolation and disgrace. How can either of us, he or I, think of exposing a wife to encounter this? Could I in honour do it?"

"It might be happier for you, if this sorrow should arrive, to have one with you to soothe your cares and share them."

"And there is one who would not shrink from it," he said, tenderly, the tears standing in his eyes. "Had I not seen that, Anne, I should have been as much knave as fool to confess to my own state of feeling. For some days past I have been thinking it might be better to speak; that I owed as much to you; to speak and have done with it. Before I knew my danger, love had stolen over me, and it was too late to guard against it. It has not been our fault: we were thrown together."

He took some impassioned kisses from my face. I let him take them. I'm afraid I did not think whether it was right or wrong; I'm not sure that I cared which it was: I only know that I felt as one in a blissful dream.

"I have been betrayed into this, Anne," he said, releasing me. "I ought to beg your pardon in all humility. It is not what I intended: though I might just tell you of my love, I never thought to give you tokens of it. Will you forgive me?"

He held out his hand. I put mine into it, the silent tears running down my blushing face. "Do not fear a similar transgression for the future. The fleeting moment over, it is over for good. I would give half my remaining existence, Anne, to be able to marry, to make you my wife; but it cannot be. Believe me, my darling, it cannot. No, though you are my darling, and will be for ever."

"Oh look! look at this! It is from your hand! What has happened to it?"

On my dress of white sprigged muslin there were two red stains, wet. The straps of his hand had become loosened, perhaps in the encounter with Mr. Edwin Barley, and it had burst out bleeding again. I ran upstairs to put on another dress, leaving Mr. Chandos to attend to his hand.

Oh, but I was in a glow of happiness! He had said he could not marry. What was marriage to me? Had there been no impediment on his side, there might have been one on mine: a poor friendless young governess was no match for Mr. Chandos of Chandos. He loved me: that was quite enough for present bliss; and, as it seemed to me, for future.