His heart was bitter against his old love—should he take this child to himself and make her his wife? He was very lonely—restless, and dissatisfied, and miserable; perhaps, after all, she might rest and comfort him. He was already very fond of her; by and by, when he had learned to forget Margaret, when he ceased to remember her with these sickening throbs of pain, he might even grow to love her.
“She is so young—so little will satisfy her,” he said to himself, when a chill doubt once crossed his mind whether he could ever give her the love that a woman has a right to demand from the man who offers himself as her husband; but he put away the thought from him. He was a Redmond, and it was his duty to marry; he had grown very fond of the shy gentle little creature; he could make her happy, for the child liked him, he thought; and it would be pleasant to have her bright face to welcome him when he went home.
So one evening, as they walked up and down the shrubbery, while Aunt Griselda knitted in the porch, Hugh took Fay’s hand, and asked her gently if she thought she could love him well enough to be his wife. Poor simple little child! she hardly knew how to answer him; but Hugh, who had caught a glimpse of the happy blushing face, was very gentle and patient with her shyness, and presently won from her the answer he wanted. She did like him—so much he understood her to say—he was so kind, and had given her so much pleasure. Yes—after much pressing on Hugh’s part—she was sure that she liked him well enough, but she could not be induced to say more.
But Hugh was quite content with his victory; he wanted no words to tell him that Fay adored him from the depths of her innocent heart; he could read the truth in those wonderful eyes—Fay had no idea how eloquent they were.
“How could she help loving him?” she said to herself that night, as she knelt down in the moonlight; had she ever seen any one like him. No little imprisoned princess ever watched her knight more proudly than Fay did when Hugh rode away on his big black mare. He was like a king, she thought, so kind, and handsome, and gracious; and Fay prayed with tears that she might be worthy of the precious gift that had come to her.
And so one lovely August day, when Aunt Griselda’s sunny little garden was sweet with the breath of roses and camellias, Sir Hugh and Fay were married in the little church at Daintree, and as Hugh looked down on his child-wife, something like compunction seized him, and from the depths of his sore heart he solemnly promised that he would keep his vow, and would cherish and love her, God helping, to his life’s end.
CHAPTER VI.
BEULAH PLACE.
Upon her face there was the tint of grief,
The settled shadow of an inward strife.
Byron.