"You must misunderstand me, Miss Watson, or you would not speak thus. Have I not as much right as any one, to love what is fair and excellent—if I am plain and awkward myself, can that make my love an insult—and you—are you not deserving to be loved, worshipped, idolised by every man who comes near you. Have you not everything that I want—everything that would grace a far higher title, a much larger fortune than mine. But because I have none of these things is that any reason I should not admire, and love them, or offer my coronet to one who would so well become it. It is yours if you will but accept it; hand, fortune, title, everything—do give me an answer."
But before Emma could find voice to answer, or arrange her ideas, they were startled by a scream from the ball-room—the music stopped completely, and a sudden stillness for a moment prevailed, seeming awful by the contrast to what preceded: then came a murmur, like a hundred whispers in one, which seemed to gather and increase.
Emma had started up at the scream, and now stood suspended, with a beating heart and unsteady breath.
"What can be the matter," said he, "shall I go and see—sit down, do not alarm yourself."
She really was obliged to seat herself, for she could not stand; he went a few steps, where he was met by Sir William.
"For Heaven's sake Osborne come here and send off all these people, your sister is in a fit, and I am almost as bad from horror."
"What in the world is the matter," cried he, struck by the agitated tone and look of his brother-in-law.
"A report has been brought from Wales that Howard is dead," said Sir William, "killed by a fall from a horse amongst the mountains, and Rosa heard it suddenly—and I am afraid—"
"Killed—Howard—dead—good Heavens," instinctively he was turning to the spot where Emma sat, but Sir William impatiently seized his arm and hurried him away unconscious that she was near.
She was left alone to her feelings, and how the next half hour passed she never knew. She could neither think nor move; to feel was too much, for a confused murmur rang in her ears; a sound of suppressed voices, and hurried footsteps, and rolling wheels, and then all seemed still again. How long she sat there she could not calculate, horror-struck and immoveable, she seemed unconscious of everything but the one thought that he was dead. And so suddenly, so awfully—it could not be!—and yet it must be true; she shivered with horror, and then she seemed again to become insensible to everything, closing her eyes to the gay lights and gaudy flowers which appeared to mock her when she gazed at them.