“To that German Baroness in whose service you were about eight months ago—Ackermann, wasn’t the name? You recollect, you went over to Hamburg with her and took observation.”
“Yes, I remember,” answered “the Ladybird” mechanically; and her head dropped in shame.
Little Ignatia came forward, and in her sweet, childish way made friends with the visitor, and later, leaving Leucha to put the child to bed, “Madame Bernard” invited Guy to stroll with her along the promenade. She wished to speak with him alone.
The night was bright, balmy, and starlit, the coloured lights on the pier giving a pretty effect to the picture, and there were a good many promenaders.
At first she spoke to him about Roddy and about his own dull, cheerless life now that he was in such close hiding. Then, presently, when they gained the seat where she had sat with “the Ladybird” on the previous evening, she suddenly turned to him, saying,—
“Mr Bourne, Leucha has told me the truth—that you love each other. Now I fully recognise the tragedy of it all, and the more so because I know it is the earnest desire of both of you to lead an honest, upright life. The world misjudges most of us. You are an outlaw and yet still a gentleman, while she, though born of criminal parents, yet has a heart of gold.”
“Yes, that she has,” he asserted quickly. “I love her very deeply. To you I do not deny it—indeed, why should I? I know that we both possess your Majesty’s sympathy.” And he looked into her splendid eyes in deep earnestness.
“You do. And more. I urge you not to be despondent, either of you. Endeavour always to cheer her up. One day a means will surely be opened for you both to break these hateful trammels that bind you to this unsafe life of fraud and deception, and unite in happiness as man and wife. Remember, I owe you both a deep debt of gratitude; and one day, I hope, I may be in a position to repay it, so that at least two loving hearts may be united.” Though crushed herself, her great, generous heart caused her to seek to assist others.
“Ah, your Majesty!” he cried, his voice trembling with emotion as, springing up, he took her hand, raising it reverently to his lips. “How can I thank you sufficiently for those kind, generous words—for that promise?”
“Ah!” she sighed, “I myself, though my position may be different to your own, nevertheless know what it is to love, and, alas! know the acute bitterness of the want of love.”