me all, when,with a look of piteous appeal, she threw herself at my knees and raisedmy hands to her lips.
"Frank," she murmured, so low that it was only by bending forward that Icould catch the words, "why do you ask? Is it because you love me, or--or--is it from mere curiosity you inquire?"
"Because I love you, Vera."
"Then," raising her beautiful face to my own, with a smile of hope,"then--trust me, Frank, and, in the future, when things have altered,you shall know _all_!"
"This is trifling," I said stiffly, raising her to her feet. "You askme to trust you because I love you; if you care for me, why not trustme, and confide this trouble to one who would do so much for you?"
"Cannot you wait, Frank, for--for even a short time? Can you neverthink that it was by pure force of circumstances that I was compelled topractise deceit towards you? I have known of your return since the dayof the murder--that is--I mean since the first hour you set foot inEngland, but I had not the courage to face you because I knew I deservedforgiveness so little."
"If this is all you have to say," I responded, rising, and taking up mystick and hat, as if going, "we may as well part. Force ofcircumstances may be compelling you to deceive me now."
My heart told me that Vera was wronged. As the cynical words fell frommy lips she gave me a glance confirming that opinion. Standing erect,her features aglow with indignation, her whole frame quivering withexcitement, she confronted me like a lioness.
"Go!" she exclaimed, with an energy which made me start violently. "Go,for we have both been deceived. I have been deceived, but now myawakening has come. Alas! this is my reward for the dangers braved, thedifficulties surmounted, and the crimes committed for your sake!"
"Stay, Vera, for Heaven's sake! What crimes?"
"Oh, forgive me! What have I said? I think I'm mad. Nay, question meno further, but leave me. Could you but know my heart, Frank, you wouldhave pity--you would know that my love is too great, too all-absorbing,to allow me for an instant to endanger your life unnecessarily. But itis absolutely certain I cannot tell you now, and therefore--"
I was conquered. As she paused again, in the midst of her anguish, andher eyes sought mine with an irresistible glance in which love andtenderness, mingled with entreaty, struggled with hope, I knew that allfurther resistance to the spell on my part was useless, for Vera spokethe truth--and she was all the world to me.
So I took her in my arms, and forgave her.
"And you will always trust me now, Frank?" she asked presently withhappy and tender elation.
"Vera," I said, gravely, "I am showing my faith in you, am I not, byasking you to be my wife? I can trust you?"
"Trust me!" she cried. "_Mon Dieu_! I have loved only one man; it isyou."
I bent down to kiss the pale upturned face and her lips met mine in ahot passionate caress, enough to make any man's head reel.
"I will endeavour to blot out from my memory this strange deceit youhave practised upon me," I exclaimed in a low voice.
"I am thankful to you, for I'm so undeserving," she cried, kissing mefondly again and again.
"But you must own your vindication has not been very satisfactory," Isaid, smiling.
"Yes, I am aware of that," she replied, seriously.
"_Mais, restes tranquille_. I cannot tell you all--at least not yet."
"Then for the present I have heard enough to convince me once more ofyour affection, Vera, and to each other we will be as before. You arestill, darling, my betrothed."
She did not reply, but flinging her slim white arms around my neck, shedtears of joy. The terrible anxiety as to the result of her pleading,upon which depended her happiness and peace of mind, had proved toogreat for her, and her pent-up feelings found vent in hystericalemotion.
She clung tightly to me as I tried to soothe her, and presently, whenshe became more calm, she dashed away her tears.
Before I returned to town that night she had consented to become my wifein a few months. Some might censure me as being rash and headstrong,but the truth was I had become intoxicated with her marvellous beauty,fascinated by her charming manner, just as I had been when we met by theMediterranean.
There was something undeniably strange and mysterious in herreligiously-guarded secret, but I felt assured hers was a strong,passionate, unwavering affection, and consequently, when I bade hergood-night, I was in the best of spirits, and hopeful of the future.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
UNDER THE STARS.
Six months later.
Vera was now my wife. After spending a blissful honeymoon among theCumberland Lakes we had taken up our abode at Elveham Dene, the home ofmy childhood, which I had inherited from my father. She was delightedwith the old place, and, indeed, I myself have always been fond of it,and may be forgiven if I descant upon its old-world beauties.
It sounds egotistical, even snobbish, nowadays, to talk of ancientlineage, but ours was not a mushroom family, for the Burgoynes have beenthe possessors of the estate for the greater portion of three centuries.
Six miles from the nearest railway station, Stamford, and one from thevillage of Blatherwyke, Elveham stands high up, commanding magnificentviews across that most fertile of the midland counties--Northamptonshire. Built when the First James was King, with its wingsof brick and stone dressings, the centre entirely of stone shrouded bythe ivy of years and decorated with Renaissance ornaments, its greatcharm lies in the air of unprofaned antiquity which surrounds it. Thereare no modern additions; and the broad balustraded terraces, the quaintold flower gardens with their sundials, and the venerable oaks andyew-trees, all call up visions of sturdy white-plumed cavaliers whosetalk is of the unhappy fight at Cheriton and the downfall of "Loyalty."
Through the long years the interior has been little changed, andcontains some fine old tapestry, ancient furniture, and a gallerywherein hang the time-sombred portraits of my ancestors.
It is a quaint old place throughout, and it was my delight when Ibrought Vera there to point out and explain the curiosities, odd nooksand corners, and relate to her its many traditions.
The Dene itself is noteworthy, too: a long steep glade carpeted withturf, closed in by a wooded amphitheatre, which opens close to thehouse. The lower part forms a flower garden; the whole scene, with itsoccasional cypresses and sunny patches of greensward, is Poussinesque,and strictly classical, belonging not to English fairies, but to thewood spirit of the old world.
Beyond, a walk leads through a beech wood, the undergrowth of whichconsists of huge rhododendrons. Blatherwyke may be reached by thispath, being a shorter distance than by the high-road.
Such was the home which, owing to a quarrel with my father, I had leftseven years before to battle with the world and earn my living by dintof sheer hard work; the home to which I returned, my bride upon my arm,wealthy, happy, with a bright future of bliss unalloyed before me. Ourwelcome, too, was a very hearty one, possibly because from a child I hadbeen popular with the servants and tenants, and since coming intopossession of the place I had not stinted them.
It was scarcely surprising that my wife should have been charmed withthe natural and artistic beauties of this dear home, for they were suchas should content any one of good sense, even though their tastes werefastidious.
Mine were not. I was a happy, contented man, blessed with a beautifuland affectionate wife, and feeling glad, having at last secured theprize for which I risked so much.
As she had scarcely any friends in this country we had been marriedquietly at Richmond. Monsieur Hertzen performed the formality of givingaway his niece, and at the church door we left him, as we understood hehad to leave England upon pressing business. On our return from theLakes I proposed that we should spend the autumn at Elveham and invitesome people for the shooting. For the winter season it was my intentionto take a house in London and introduce Vera in society. At these plansshe expressed her utmost satisfaction, though she said she should behappy to live aways at Elveham.
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In peaceful contentment, without thought, devoid of care, the dayspassed pleasantly after our arrival home.
As mistress, she soon set about arranging and reorganising thehousehold, and I could not fail to notice that her quiet, kindlydemeanour at once endeared her to the servants, all of whom spoke highlyof her.
I had married her knowing absolutely nothing about her past, and thiswas a fact which she apparently had not forgotten, for on the night ofour arrival, when we had dined, and were seated _tete-a-tete_ in herboudoir, she rose, and coming behind my chair, said,--
"Frank, dear, I had no idea my future home was to be so beautiful aplace; it is absolutely perfect. Few women begin their married life inhappier circumstances than these."
"Was it a pleasant surprise?" I asked, laughing. "Yes, very," sheanswered. "But I cannot forget, dear, that you