Drinking in the enchanting draught of her beauty to intoxication, Lord Ernest Villiers stood leaning against a marble pillar until the dance was concluded; and then moving toward her, as she stood for an instant alone, he bent over her, and whispered, in a voice that was low but full of passion:
“Maude! Maude! why have you tried to avoid me all the evening? I must see you! I must speak to you in private! I must hear my destiny from your lips tonight!”
At the first sound of his voice she had started quickly, and the “eloquent blood” had flooded cheek and bosom with its rosy light; but as he went on it faded away, and a sort of shiver passed through her frame as he ceased.
“Come with me into the music-room – it is deserted now,” he said, drawing her arm through his. “There, apart from all those prying eyes, I can learn my fate.”
Paler still grew the pale face of the lady; but, without a word, she suffered herself to be led to the shadowy and deserted room he had just left.
“And now, Maude – my own love – may I claim an answer to the question I asked you last night?” he said, bending over her.
“I answered you then, my lord,” she said, sadly.
“Yes; you told me to go – to forget you; as if such a thing were possible. Maude, I cannot, I will take that for an answer. Tell me, do you love me?”
“Oh, Ernest – oh, my dear lord! you know I do!” she cried, passionately.
“Then, Maude – my beautiful one – will you not be mine – my wife?”
“Oh, I cannot! I cannot! Oh, Ernest, I cannot!” she said, with a convulsive shudder.
“Cannot! And why, in Heaven’s name?”
“My lord, that is my secret. I can never, never be your wife. Choose some one worthier of you, and forget Maude Percy.”
She tried to steady her voice, but a stifled sob finished the sentence.
For all answer he gathered her in his strong arms, and her head dropped on his shoulder.
“My poor little romantic Maude, what is this wonderful secret?” he said, smiling. “Tell me, and we will see if your mountain does not turn out a molehill after all. Now, why cannot you be my wife?”
“You think me weak and silly, my lord,” she said, raising her head somewhat proudly, and withdrawing from his retaining arms; “but there is a reason, one sufficient to separate us forever – one that neither you nor any living mortal can ever know!”
“And you refuse to tell this reason? My father and yours are eager for this match; in worldly rank we are equals; I love you passionately, with all my heart and soul, and still you refuse. Maude, you never loved me,” he said, bitterly.
Her pale sweet face was bent in her hands now, and large tears fell through her fingers.
“Maude, you will not be so cruel,” he said, with sudden hope. “Only say I may hope for this dear hand.”
“No, no. Hope for nothing but to forget one so miserable as I am. Oh, Lord Ernest! there are so many better and worthier than I am, who will love you. I will be your friend – your sister, if I may; but I can never be your wife.”
“Maude, is there guilt, is there crime connected with this secret of yours?” he demanded, stepping before her.
She rose to her feet impetuously, her cheeks crimsoning, her large eyes filling and darkening with indignation, her noble brow expanded, her haughty little head erect.
“And you think me capable of crime, Lord Villiers? – of guilt that needs concealment?” she said, with proud scorn.
“You, Maude? No; sooner would I believe an angel from heaven guilty of crime, than you. But I thought there might be others involved. Oh, Lady Maude! must this secret, that involves the happiness of my whole life, remain hidden from me?”
The bright light had died out from the beautiful eyes of Lady Maude; and her tone was very sad, as she replied:
“Some day, my lord, I will tell you all; but not now. Let us part here, and let this subject never be renewed between us.”
“One word, Maude – do you love me?”
“I do! I do! Heaven forgive me!”
“Now, why, ‘Heaven forgive me?’ Maude! Maude! you will drive me mad! Is it such a crime to love me then?”
“In some it is,” she said, in her low, sad voice.
“And why, fairest saint?”
“Do not ask me, my lord. Oh, Ernest! let me go, I am tired and sick, and very, very unhappy. Dearest Ernest, leave me, and never speak of this again.”
“As you will, Lady Maude,” he said, with a bow, turning haughtily away.
But a light touch, that thrilled to his very heart, was laid on his arm, and the low, sweet voice of Lady Maude said:
“I have offended you, my lord; pray forgive me.”
“I am not offended, Lady Maude Percy; neither have I anything to forgive,” he said; but his fine face was clouded with mortification. “You have rejected me, and I presume the matter ends there.”
“But you are offended, I can hear it in your voice. Oh, Lord Villiers, if you knew how unhappy I am, you would forgive me the pain I have caused you.”
Her tone touched him, and taking her hand gently, he said:
“It is I who should ask forgiveness, Lady Maude. Yes, I will accept the friendship you offer, until such time as I can claim a better reward. Notwithstanding all you have said, I do not despair still.”
He pressed her hand to his lips and was gone.
“Excuse me, your lordship,” insinuated a most aristocratic footman in his ear, at that moment, “but there is an individual downstairs who persists on seeing the earl, and and won’t take no for an answer.”
“Who is it?” inquired Lord Villiers, impatiently.
“A gipsy, my lord, a desperate-looking old tramper, too.”
“What’s that about gipsies?” said the unceremonious little Miss Jernyngham, passing at that moment. “You must know, my lord, I fairly dote on gipsies, ever since I saw that charming young man they are going to transport.”
“How I wish I were a gipsy!” said Lord Villiers, gayly, “for such a reward.”
“Pray spare your pretty speeches for Lady Maude Percy, my lord,” lisped Miss Jernyngham, giving him a tap with her fan; “but about this gipsy – is it a man or woman?”
“A woman, Miss, they call her the gipsy queen, Ketura.”
“A gipsy queen! oh, delightful!” cried the young lady, clapping her hands; “my lord, we must have her up, by all means. I insist on having my fortune told.”
“Your slave hears but to obey, Miss Jernyngham,” said Lord Villiers, with a bow. “Jonson, go and bring the old lady up.”
“Yes, me lud,” said Jonson, hurrying off.
“George – George! do come here!” exclaimed the young lady, as her brother passed; “I want you!”
“What’s all this about?” said the guardsman, lounging up. “My dear Clara, the way you do get the steam up at a moment’s notice is perfectly astonishing. What can I do for you?”
“Do you want to have your fortune told?”
“If any good sibyl would predict for me a rich wife, who