A Double Knot Part 42

"For my want of money," he said, smiling down, and longing to clasp her once more in his arms.

"I hardly know what money is," she said quietly. "We have never had any; so why should I care for that?"

"Then I may speak?" he whispered. "I may be better off by-and-by, and we can wait."

"Oh yes, we could wait," sighed Clotilde. "But no--no--no, it is madness! I ought not to talk like this. I've been very weak and foolish, and I don't know what you must think of me."

"Think of you!" he whispered; "that you are all that is beautiful and innocent and good, and that I love you with all my heart."

"But I'm not good," faltered Clotilde; "I'm very wicked indeed, and I don't know what will become of me; I don't, really."

"Become the woman who will share my fate--the woman I shall make my idol. Clotilde, I never saw one I could sincerely say such things to till we met, and at one bound my heart seemed to go out to meet you.

Tell me, my darling, that nothing shall separate us now."

"Oh, don't, pray don't speak to me like that," sighed Clotilde. "You don't know--you can't know. What shall I do?"

"My dear girl, tell me," he whispered, as he gazed in her wild eyes.

"Oh, no, no!" she sobbed.

"Not give your confidence to one who loves you as I do?"

"I dare not tell you--yes, I will," she cried piteously. "What shall I do? My aunts say that I must marry Mr Elbraham."

"Then Millet was right," cried Glen excitedly. "But no, no, my darling, it cannot--it shall not be. Only tell me you love me--that I may care for you--guard you--defend you, and no aunts or Elbrahams in the world shall separate us."

"I--I think--I believe I do care for you," she faltered, as she looked up at him in a piteous, pleading way.

"Heaven bless you, sweet!" he cried. "Then this very day I will see them. They are women, and will listen to reason. I will plead to them, and you shall help me."

"Oh, no, no, no!" cried Clotilde in horrified tones. "That would be to separate us for ever, and--and--and," she sobbed, "I could not bear that."

"But surely"--he began.

"Oh, you do not know my aunts!" she said excitedly. "It would only be to force me into that dreadful man's arms. We must not let them know.

It would be too dreadful."

"But, my darling, I think I could show them--"

"No, no! Don't show them--don't try to show them, if you love me!"

"If I love you!" he said reproachfully.

"Then pray--pray keep it secret," she said imploringly, "for the present."

"But I must see you--I must talk to you."

"Yes, yes; you shall sometimes. But if they thought you spoke to me as you have, I should never see you again."

"But what am I to do?" he pleaded.

"You may write to me sometimes," she said ingenuously; "and sometimes, perhaps, we may meet."

"But--"

"Hush! No more now. Oh, pray--pray--pray! Here is sister Marie."

Glen did not notice it, but Clotilde recovered her calmness very rapidly, as, after a very awkward time spent in trying hard to keep her from joining the others, Marie found out the way for herself, and snubbed d.i.c.k so sharply that he came up with her looking exceedingly rueful, and telling himself that the sacrifice he had made to friendship was far too great, and that he ought to have kept to Clotilde.

"Why, Marie," exclaimed the latter, "where have you been?"

Marie did not reply, only darted an angry glance at her sister, and then one full of scorn at Glen, who made a sign to Millet, one which the little fellow eagerly obeyed, going on with Clotilde, while Glen lingered behind with Marie.

"I am not so blind or so foolish as not to see that you are displeased with my attentions to your sister," he said in a low voice, which made her thrill with pleasure, in spite of the jealous anger she felt. "Yes, you need not tell me," he continued, meeting her eyes. "But come, let us be friends--more, let us be like brother and sister, for, believe me, my feelings towards you are warmer than you think. I know that I am no worthy match for your sister, but if love can make up for poverty-- there, you will not be angry with me, for I want you to be my ally."

Marie turned to him again to look scorn and anger, but as she met his eyes her resolution failed, and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into a pa.s.sionate fit of sobbing.

"He loves her," she sobbed to herself; "and he cannot see her, he cannot know her, as I do."

The next moment she was upbraiding herself with her own unworthiness, while he was interpreting her silence into a more softened feeling towards him; and when they parted a few minutes later, and he pressed her hand, Marie felt that if he wished it she could become his slave, while somehow Glen did not feel quite satisfied with his idol.

The sisters did not speak on their way back, while when they re-entered the Palace their aunts were loud in praise of the animation their walk had imparted to their countenances.

"Such news, my dears!" cried Miss Philippa.

"Such good news, my dears!" echoed Miss Isabella.

"Mr Elbraham is coming down to-day," said Miss Philippa.

"And he will drive Lord Henry Moorpark down in his phaeton."

"Yes, my sweet darlings," said Miss Philippa affectionately. "I think, dears, I would sit quietly in the drawing-room all the morning."

"And go up just before lunch to dress."

"Yes, dears. Your new morning dresses have come home."

"Oh, have they, aunt dear?" cried Clotilde. "Come upstairs, then, at once, Rie, and we'll try them on."

Volume 2, Chapter VI.

THE ANCHORITE IS CONSULTED AGAIN.

"I wonder whether I shall ever have any children of my own," said John Huish; "and, if I do, whether I shall ever be so hard, cruel, and worldly to them as some people are. Money is very nice, and one would like to see one's young folks well off; but how a mother and father can deliberately match a beautiful, innocent young girl with some old fellow because he is rich and has a t.i.tle, is something beyond my comprehension. Sixty and twenty! Oh, it is a disgrace to our boasted civilisation!"

John Huish's breakfast was on the table in his snug room, and the coffee, French rolls, and delicately-brown ham looked enticing, but they did not tempt him. He had made several beginnings, such as taking off the cover that concealed the ham, opening his napkin, pouring out the steaming amber coffee, and the like; but he had touched nothing, for a letter he had received from Gertrude that morning had taken away his appet.i.te.

"Poor girl!" he mused; "suffering agonies, and I seem as if I can do nothing to help her. Money! Why have I not plenty of money? I always felt well enough off till this happened, and then all at once I discovered that I was a poor man."