Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 85

"Forgive me," said Jack, bending over her humbly, imploringly--"forgive me! You--you are right. But I swear I thought it was over for me. You knew me better than I knew myself."

"Yes, for a good reason, Jack," she murmured; "for I love you."

Jack winced.

"I have been a brute!" he murmured.

"No, Jack," she said--and she put her hand on his arm and looked up at him with a smile--"you meant well and honestly. You did not know how it stood with you. I could not have loved you so well if you had been false--if you had forgotten her. I have been thinking it out, Jack; and I know now that to love once--as you and I love--is to love forever."

"But it is past," he said, "utterly, irrevocably past. You do not know the barrier that stands immovably between her and me."

"Do I not?" she murmured, inaudibly. "Be it what it will, your love and hers stand firm on either side of it. But no more of that, Jack. I am glad you have come to me--very, very glad. And though I cannot be your wife, Jack"--with what tenderness and sadness those two words were breathed--"I can be your friend. I want you to promise me something."

Jack pressed her hand. He could not trust himself to speak.

"I want you to promise that you will not go away again, that you will not leave London whatever happens--mind, whatever happens--without letting me know! I may ask that much, Jack?"

"You may ask anything," he said, huskily; "I will do anything you ask of me--simply anything."

"I think you would," she said. "Then I have your promise? And, Jack, this must make no difference between us; you will come and see me?"

"I do not deserve to come within a mile of you."

She smiled.

"And so punish me for not saying 'yes,'" she said, with a little attempt at archness. "That would be hard for me, Jack. I should lose lover and friend as well."

"You are the truest-hearted woman in the world," said Jack, deeply moved.

"Except one," said Lady Bell. "There, go now, Jack, and come to dinner tonight, and bring Leonard Dagle with you--another true heart."

"I will," said Jack, simply. And he held out his hand.

She held out both of hers, and looked at him with a strange, wistful yearning in her eyes.

"Jack," she breathed, softly, "will you kiss me for the first and last time?"

Jack drew her toward him and kissed her. Then, with a little sigh, she left him. How Jack got out he knew not, for his eyes were strangely dim and useless.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

A dim light was burning in the drawing-room of the Hurst. Outside, the storm was raging wild and pitiless, making the warm room seem like a harbor of refuge. Beside the fire sat Mrs. Davenant, half dozing over a piece of finest needlework for the village working club. She was alone in the room, and every now and then glanced anxiously toward the door.

Presently it opened, and the tall figure of Stephen entered and crossed over to her.

"Mother," he said, and there was a tremulous ring in his voice and a quiver in his lips that were in marked contrast to his usual smooth calm.

Mrs. Davenant looked up with a glance of alarm. "Una!" she exclaimed.

"Hush!" he said, laying his hand on her shoulder. "Una," and his voice dwelt on the name. "Una is asleep. She has gone to her own room for a little while. Mother," he said, slowly, "she has consented."

Mrs. Davenant looked up and trembled: "Oh, Stephen!"

He nodded, and stood before the fire, looking up with a smile of undisguised triumph and joy. "Yes, she has consented. It was--well, hard work; but my love overmastered her. I told her that you agreed with me that the sooner the marriage took place the better. You do, do you not?"

"Yes," murmured Mrs. Davenant.

"She wants change; nothing but entire change of life and thought will do her good. Mother, if she remained here, if something were not done, she would"--he paused, and went on hoa.r.s.ely, "she would die!"

Mrs. Davenant shuddered and her eyes filled. "My poor, poor Una!" she murmured.

Stephen moved impatiently. "She will not need your pity, mother. A few weeks hence and you will have no reason to pity her. I'll stake my life that I bring her back here with the roses in her cheeks, with the smile in her eyes, as of old. Mother, you do not know what such love as mine can do!" and his voice trembled with suppressed pa.s.sion.

Mrs. Davenant looked up at him, tearfully.

"You--you are much changed, Stephen," she murmured.

"I am," he said, with a curt laugh. "I am changed, am I not? I scarcely know myself. And she has done it. She! My beautiful queen, my lily! Yes, she shall be happy, if man can make her." He was silent a moment, dwelling on his love and future, and looked, as he spoke, much changed.

Then he awoke at a question from his mother.

"When is it to be, Stephen?"

"Tomorrow," he said, quietly.

"Tomorrow!" gasped. Mrs. Davenant. "Impossible!"

"Not at all," he said, curtly. "Remember, I told you not to be surprised, that it would come suddenly."

"But----"

He made a movement of impatience.

"Do you think I have not made preparations? See," and he took a paper from his pocket, "I have had the license for a week past. It is no ordinary marriage. We want no bridesmaid and wedding favors. She would not have them--or me, if you insisted upon it. It is princ.i.p.ally on the condition that the ceremony shall be quite private--secret almost--that she has consented."

Mrs. Davenant stared at the fire.

Stephen smiled.

"You do not understand me, even yet, mother," he said. "Did you ever know anything fail me?"

Mrs. Davenant shuddered, or was it the play of the fire-light?

"Never," she said, in a low voice.

Stephen smiled again.