Chapter IV: I Will Win You Yet

An hour after, Wil returned comparatively calm and in a much more rational frame of mind. He had worked off a good deal of his internal wickedness at the oars, and the season of meditation had done him good. He saw how unreasonable he had been to indulge in such passionate jealousy and anger; for if Lady Elaine preferred Philip Paxton’s society to his own and was attracted toward him, no power on earth could help it, and he must try to make the best of it.

The night was supremely beautiful, and, as he had glided over the smooth bosom of the lake, a sort of peace had fallen upon him; the soft light of the moon, as it glimmered through the network of foliage overhanging the waters, had seemed to quiet the tumult that was raging within him, and charm away those disagreeable sensations of hatred and revenge which for the time he had let take such violent possession of him.

“I love her, and I am going to try to win her,” he said, with a sudden resolute uplifting of his handsome head, as his boat went skimming over the waters and he had seriously thought the matter all over. “If I can do it fairly and honorably, I shall be the happiest man in the world; if I cannot win her--if she cannot love me and will not be my wife--if her heart turns to Paxton”--and his fine lips grew pale and unsteady at the thought--“I have no right to stand in his way, even though I feel that he is not treating me honestly after the confidence which I have given him.

“I will go back; I will not sulk and pout like an overgrown schoolboy, but I will go and meet my fate like a man.”

And as he reasoned in this sensible, straightforward fashion, he turned his wherry about and began to row back to put his resolution into execution.

As he did so the moonlight fell upon something white just at his side.

He bent to look. It was a water lily, its waxen face turned up to him, beaming at him from the dark waters like a star of hope and promise.

He uttered a cry of pleased surprise as he put out his hand and carefully plucked it.

“What strange freak of nature is this that I find a water lily in full bloom in the night?” he said.

He held it closely out into the light to examine it more closely, and, as far as he could see, it was a most perfect and beautiful flower.

“Shall I accept the finding of this as a good omen? Is it a blossom of promise to me?” he asked, his face brightening as he contemplated it. “I will hope so, at least, as long as there is anything to hope for. I will take it home to her, for she loves the lilies so, my peerless Lily of Mordaunt.”

He laid it carefully on the seat beside him, and rowing swiftly and with a lightened heart, he was soon back again at Hazelmere.

The lily was found to be without a blemish; every petal and stamen was as perfect as if it had been molded from wax.

His first thought as he re-entered the drawing-room was of Lady Elaine.

She was standing near a window which opened upon the porch where she had paced with Philip Paxton on the night of his arrival, and she was, for the moment, alone.

He approached her, and when she saw him she gave him a smile of welcome.

“Where have you been, truant, all this time?” she asked, playfully.

His heart leaped at the words.

She had missed him, then, consequently her attention could not have been very deeply absorbed by any one else.

“I did not feel quite right after dinner, and I went out upon the lake for a row,” he answered, frankly.

“Are you ill?” she inquired, a shade of anxiety creeping into her lovely eyes; and again his heart thrilled with a strange, sweet delight.

“No; I am quite well.” Then, not caring to pursue that subject, he said:

“But I have found something for you--something strange and beautiful. Will you come with me and let me show it to you?”

“‘Something strange and beautiful?’” she repeated, smiling. “Of course, I will come. I could not endure the curiosity which you have aroused in me.”

She laid her hand lightly on his arm, and he led her to a little ante-room where he had left his lily in water.

He had put it into a tall, slender vase of cut glass, and as he led her up to it, she exclaimed:

“Where did you get it? I never saw anything more perfect or beautiful.”

She took the vase in her white-gloved hands and bent over it, her face full of appreciation and delight.

“I found it on the lake,” Wil answered, thinking how like to the spotless flower she was herself, in her pure white robes, with that simple cluster of green leaves at her throat.

“What--to-night! I thought water lilies always closed at night,” she cried.

“So they do; but some strange freak of nature has kept this one open. Perhaps,” he added, with a smile, “some tiny, invisible fairy or water-nymph has crept into it and gone to sleep, and that is what keeps it open.”

“What a pretty fancy, Wil,” Lady Elaine began, and then stopped suddenly, while a beautiful blush suffused her face.

She had never spoken his name quite like this before, at least not in his presence, and again every nerve within him thrilled with joy.

“Do you know,” she added, quickly, as if to cover her confusion, “what I mean to do with it? The sisters at the convent taught me the art of preserving flowers, and I shall attend to this the first thing to-morrow morning. I shall keep it always,” she asserted; then fearing she had said too much, she added, with drooping lashes, “for it is too beautiful to be allowed to fade.”

Wil caught his breath; those shyly-drooping lids, the fluctuating color in that velvet cheek, were very enticing signs to him.

“Would you care enough about it to take all that trouble?” he asked, in a low, eager voice, his whole soul in his eyes.

Before she could reply, a voice behind them said:

“Oh, here you are, Wil. Your mother wants you a moment,” and Sir Anthony popped his head most inopportunely in upon the almost-declared lovers.

Then seeing the flower that Lady Elaine was holding in her hands, and being quite an enthusiastic botanist, he came forward to examine the night-blooming lily, while Wil, perceiving that his opportunity was lost for that time, went to ascertain what his mother wanted.

But his heart was lighter than it had been for many days; something in his darling’s manner, the involuntary speaking of his name in that familiar way, her assertion that she should always keep his lily, made him feel as if his cause was not altogether hopeless.

Sir Anthony stopped only a moment or two after his son left them, then he, too, went back to his guests, leaving his fair ward alone.

As he disappeared, she lifted the glittering vase which she still held, and laid her lips tenderly, caressingly, against that waxen flower, resting like a white dove upon its edge.

Could an artist have painted her as she looked then, his fame would have been established for all time, for a fairer picture mortal eye never gazed upon.

The little room with its rich crimson hangings, the walls paneled with embossed gold, and adorned with choice paintings, with here and there a gleaming statuette, the glittering chandelier above shedding its radiance over all, and the young girl, in her pure white dress, her face slightly flushed, her scarlet lips tremulous with some inward emotion, looking tenderly down upon the perfect flower in its crystal cup--ah, it was a vision which once seen would be stamped upon memory’s page forever.

Philip Paxton, standing unobserved in the doorway, saw it and held his breath, almost fearing that if he should move the spell would be dissolved and she would suddenly vanish like some sweet spirit from his sight.

He had seen Wil approach and lead her from the drawing-room while he was talking to Lady Mary Elgin, to whom he had just been introduced, and he instantly became alarmed lest something should occur to balk his plans.

As soon as he could do so, he excused himself from his companion and followed them from the room.

Passing through the hall he saw Wil emerge from the little ante-room alone, and instantly breathed freer. Surely no harm could have been done in so short a time.

A moment or two later Sir Anthony followed his son, and, believing that Lady Elaine was now there alone, Philip, with a feeling of exultation that he should find a clear field, stole forward, peeped within the room, and saw the picture that has been described.

“Now or never!” he said to himself, yet notwithstanding his anxiety to know his fate, he was loath to disturb that delightful vision.

But a slight movement on his part made Lady Elaine turn quickly, and then she blushed a vivid scarlet as she wondered if Mr. Paxton had seen the tender caress which she had bestowed upon her lily.

He had seen her bending over it, but not having witnessed Wil’s presentation, he had imagined her to be merely inhaling its fragrance, and now observing her blush, he fondly believed that his unexpected presence alone had caused it.

He instantly went forward to her side with a smile.

“You have something very pretty there,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, recovering her self-possession. “It is a lily which has bloomed, or remained in blossom, in the evening. Mr. Hamilton found it on the lake. Did you ever see anything so perfect and beautiful?”

She held the vase toward him as she spoke.

He took it from her and looked at the flower, but with a preoccupied air.

Then he put it down upon the table near which they were standing, and turning to her again, said, in a deep, intense tone, while an eager, passionate fire burned in his eyes:

“It is neither so perfect nor so beautiful as its namesake, the Lily of Mordaunt. Lady Elaine, you must know what I want to say to you. I love you with my whole soul, and I want to win you for my wife. I did not mean to speak to you of this so soon. I meant to woo you gradually; but when I saw you in here alone in your transcendent loveliness, I was impelled to come and tell you of my love. I was afraid to wait. I was afraid that I should lose you, and my impatient heart would not brook delay. My darling, tell me that I may wear the Lily of Mordaunt forever on my heart. Tell me that you will love me, and give the right to call you by the sweetest of all names--my wife.”

He had spoken very rapidly--so rapidly that she could find no opportunity to interrupt him, though her very soul had shrank appalled as she listened to his passionate avowal, for such it seemed to her, since his voice shook, and he was trembling with emotion and suspense when he concluded.

She had grown suddenly scarlet at his confession, then as she realized the pain that she must inflict upon him, she became as white as her snowy dress.

“Mr. Paxton,” she began, sorrowfully, when he paused, “I am deeply pained that you should have said this to me. If I had once surmised that you were beginning to cherish feelings such as you have just confessed, I should have found some way to show you how impossible it would be for me ever to be your wife----”

“Oh, do not say that,” Philip Paxton interrupted, in a tone of passionate entreaty.

“I must, Mr. Paxton, or else be guilty of doing both you and myself an irreparable injury.”

She spoke with such positiveness, and so calmly, that it angered him.

“Perhaps the Lady Elaine Warburton would not condescend to marry a young barrister, however respectable he might be. Perhaps she desired to secure another title when she takes upon herself the bonds of matrimony,” he said, sarcastically, while a burning flush surged up and lost itself beneath the masses of dark hair which lay above his forehead.

She drew herself up with a slight gesture of haughtiness at this implication, but she answered as gently as before:

“If I had given my heart to a man whom I believed to be worthy, I should marry him without regard to his profession or position in life.”

“Am I not worthy, then? Wherein do I lack? Teach me how to be worthy of you, and I will move the world to accomplish my object,” he cried, assuming a humble tone.

She lifted her eyes to his face and they were full of pity.

“I beg your pardon,” she cried. “I had no intention of implying anything like that. I feel that you are worthy of the love of a true-hearted woman, and I esteem you very highly as--as a friend----”

He interrupted her with a gesture of repugnance.

“I do not want to be your friend,” he cried, impetuously.

“Do you not?” she questioned, in a tone of gentle surprise, a slight flush tinging her cheek.

“Oh, I do not mean that,” he answered, almost wildly, “but I want more--I want your love--your heart--I want you.”

“I can give you neither my love nor myself,” Lady Elaine replied, in a low voice, but there was no mistaking the decision in her tone.

He grew frightfully pale for a moment, and then a rush of anger and disappointment dyed all his face again.

“Tell me,” he said, abruptly, almost rudely, and searching her face with a burning glance, “have you given yourself to another? Do you love some one else?”

She turned upon him a cold, imperious look.

“You have no right to ask me such a question,” she said, icily; but her cheeks were vivid in their scarlet hue.

He saw his mistake instantly.

She was very proud and very sensitive, this peerless Lily of Mordaunt, and, if he hoped to retain her favor, he saw that he must conduct himself very circumspectly.

“Forgive me,” he returned, humbly--he could afford to be very humble, if by any means he could win that twenty thousand a year; “I had no right to ask it, but I am nearly wild with the pain of my disappointment. Tell me, please, that you forgive me.”

He held out his hand appealingly as he ceased speaking, and with her heart full of pity for him, and believing that he was sincere, she laid her own within it with a frank, forgiving smile.

“You are freely forgiven,” she said, sweetly.

His fingers closed over hers in an almost spasmodic clasp.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tenderly; then he added: “But I would give very much to know if this hand is pledged to another.”

She quickly withdrew it, a curl of scorn replacing the smile on her lips.

“Mr. Paxton forgets himself often to-night,” she said, haughtily; then added, with sudden impulse, “and yet if it can be of any consequence to him to know the fact of the case, I can tell him that--it is not.”

His face cleared in an instant; his heart leaped with exultation; the beautiful girl with her immense fortune might yet be his if this was true; at all events he would leave no stone unturned to accomplish his purpose.

He bent toward her with a brilliant smile, an eager look in his handsome eyes.

“Then I do not despair,” he said, softly; “I will win you yet.”

And without giving her an opportunity to reply, turned abruptly and left her.