Only a girl's love
"Stella, I love you!" he repeated, and his voice sounded like some low,
subtle music, which rang through her ears even after the words had died
from his lips.
Pale and trembling she looked at him, and put her hand to gently force
his grasp from her arm.
"No, no!" she panted.
"But it is 'yes,'" he said, and he took her other hand and held her
a close prisoner, looking into the depths of the dark, wondering,
troubled eyes. "I love you, Stella."
"No," she repeated again, almost inaudibly. "It is impossible!"
"Impossible!" he echoed, and a faint smile flitted across the eager
face--a smile that seemed to intensify the passion in his eyes. "It
seems to me impossible not to love you. Stella, are you angry with
me--offended? I have been too sudden, too rude and rough."
At his tender pleading her eyes drooped for the first time.
Too rough, too rude! He, who seemed to her the type of knightly
chivalry and courtesy.
"I should have remembered how pure and delicate a flower my beautiful
love was," he murmured. "I should have remembered that my love was a
star, to be approached with reverence and awe, not taken by storm. I
have been too presumptuous; but, oh, Stella, you do not know what such
love as mine is! It is like a mountain torrent hard to stem; it sweeps
all before it. That is my love for you, Stella. And now, what will you
say to me?"
As he spoke he drew her still nearer to him; she could feel his breath
stirring her hair, could almost hear the passionate beating of his
heart.
What should she say to him? If she allowed her heart to speak she would
hide her face upon his breast and whisper--"Take me." But, girl as she
was, she had some idea of all that divided them; the very place in
which they stood was eloquent of the difference between them; between
him, the future lord of Wyndward, and she, the poor painter's niece.
"Will you not speak to me?" he murmured. "Have you not a single word
for me? Stella, if you knew how I long to hear those beautiful lips
answer me with the words I have spoken. Stella, I would give all I
possess in the world to hear you say, 'I love you!'"
"No, no," she said, again, almost pantingly. "Do not ask me--do not say
any more. I--I cannot bear it!"
His face flushed hotly for a moment, but he held her tightly, and his
eyes searched hers for the truth.
"Does it pain you to hear that I love you?" he whispered. "Are you
angry, sorry? Can you not love me, Stella? Oh, my darling!--let me call
you my darling, mine, if only for once, for one short minute! See,
you are mine, I hold you in both hands! Be mine for a short minute at
least, while you answer me. Are you sorry? Can you not give me a little
love in return for all the love I bear you? Cannot you, Stella?"
Panting now, and with the rich color coming and going on her face, she
looks this way and that like some wild, timid animal seeking to escape.
"Do not press me, do not force me to speak," she almost moans. "Let me
go now."
"No, by Heaven!" he says, almost fiercely. "You shall not, must not go,
until you have answered me. Tell me, Stella, is it because I am nothing
to you, and you do not like to tell me so? Ah! better the truth at
once, hard as it may be to bear, than suspense. Tell me, Stella."
"It--it--is not that," she says, with drooping head.
"What is it, then?" he whispers, and he bends his head to catch her
faintly whispered words, so that his lips almost touch her face.
From the drawing-room comes the sound of some one playing; it recalls
all the grandeur of the scene, all the high mightiness of the house to
which he belongs--of which he is so nearly the head, and it gives her
strength.
Slowly she raises her head and looks at him.
There is infinite tenderness, infinite yearning, and suppressed
maidenly passion in her eyes.
"It is not that," she says. "But--do you forget?"
"Forget!" he asks, patiently, gently, though his eyes are burning with
impetuous eagerness.
"Do you forget who I am--who you are?" she says, faintly.
"I forget everything except that you are to me the most lovely and
precious of creatures on God's earth," he says, passionately. Then,
with a touch of his characteristic pride, "What need have I to remember
anything else, Stella?"
"But I have," she said. "Oh yes, it is for me to remember. I cannot--I
ought not to forget. It is for me to remember. I am only Stella
Etheridge, an artist's niece, a nobody--an insignificant girl, and
you--oh, Lord Leycester!"
"And I?" he says, as if ready to meet her fairly at every point.
"And you!"--she looks around--"you are a nobleman; will be the lord of
all this beautiful place--of all that you were showing me the other
day. You should not, ought not to tell me that--that--what you have
told me."
He bent over her, and his hand closed on her arm with a masterful
caressing touch.
"You mean that because I am what I am--that because I am rich I am to
be made poor; because I have so much--too much, that the one thing on
earth which would make the rest worth having is to be denied me."
He laughed almost fiercely.
"Better to be the poorest son of the soil than lord of many acres, if
that were true, Stella. But it is not. I do not care whether I am rich
or poor, noble or nameless--yes, I do! I am glad for your sake. I have
never cared before. I have never realized it before, but I do now. I am
glad now. Do you know why?"
She shook her head, her eyes downcast.
"Because I can lay them all at your feet," and as he speaks he bends
on one knee beside her and draws her hand with trembling hands to his
heart.
"See, Stella, I lay them at your feet. I say take them, if you think
them worth--take them, and make them worth having; no, I say rather,
share them with me? Set against your love, my darling, title, lands,
wealth--are all worthless dross to me. Give me your love, Stella; I
must, I will have it!" and he presses a passionate clinging kiss
on her hand.
Frightened by his vehemence, Stella draws her hand away and shrinks
back.
He rises and draws her to a seat, standing beside her calm and penitent.
"Forgive me, Stella! I frighten you! See, I will be quite gentle and
quiet--only listen to me!"
"No, no," she murmurs, trembling, "I must not. Think--if--if--I said
what you wish me to say, how could I meet the countess? What would they
say to me? They would blame me for stealing your love."
"You have not stolen; no nun from a convent could have been more free
from artifice than you, Stella. You have stolen nothing; it is I who
have _given_--GIVEN you all."
She shook her head.
"It is the same," she murmured. "They would be so displeased. Oh, it
cannot be."
"It cannot be?" he repeated, with a smile. "But it has already come to
pass. Am I one to love and unlove in a breath, Stella? Look at me!"
She raises her eyes, and meets his eager, passionate gaze.
"Do I look like one to be swayed as a reed by any passing wind, gentle
or rough? No, Stella, such love as I feel for you is not to be turned
aside. Even if you were to tell me that you do not, cannot love me,
my love would not die; it has taken root in my heart--it has become
part of myself. There is not one hour since I saw you that I have not
thought about you. Stella, you have come to me even in my sleep; I have
dreamed that you whispered to me, 'I love you.' Let the dream be a true
one. Oh, my life, my darling, let your heart speak, if it is to say
that it loves me. See, Stella, you are all the world to me--do not rob
me of happiness. You do not doubt my love?"
Doubt his love! That was not possible for her to do, since every word,
every look, bore the impress of truth.
But still she would not yield. Even as he spoke, she fancied she
could see the stern face of the earl looking at her with hard
condemnation--could see the beautiful eyes of the countess looking down
at her with cold displeasure and wondering, amazed scorn.
Footsteps were approaching, and she rose hurriedly, to fly from him if
need be. But Lord Leycester was not a man to be turned aside. As she
rose he took her arm gently, tenderly, with loving persuasion, and drew
her near to him.
"Come with me," he said. "Do not leave me for a moment. See, the door
is open--it is quite warm. We shall be alone here. Oh, my darling, do
not leave me in suspense."
She was powerless to resist, and he led her on to the terrace outside.
Out into the dusky night, odorous with the breath of the flowers, and
mystical in the dim light of the stars. A gentle summer, zephyr-like
air stirred the trees; the sound of the water falling over the weir
came like music up the hillside. A nightingale sang in the woods below
them; all the night seemed full of slumberous passion and unspoken love.
"We are alone here, Stella," he murmured. "Now answer me. Listen once
more, darling! I am not tired of telling you; I shall never tire of it.
Listen! I love you--I love you!"
The stars grew dull and misty before her eyes, the charm of his voice,
of his presence, was stealing over her; the passionate love which burnt
in her heart for him was finding its way through cool prudence, her
lips were tremulous. A sigh, long and deep, broke from them.
"I love you!" he replied, as if the words were a spell, as indeed they
were--a spell not to be resisted. "Give me your answer, Stella. Come
close to me. Whisper it! whisper 'I love you,' or send me away. But
you will not do that; no, you shall not do that!" and forgetful of his
vow to be gentle with her, he put his arm round her, drew her to him
and--kissed her.
It was the first kiss. A thrill ran through her, the sky seemed to
sink, the whole night to pause as if it were waiting. With a little
shudder of exquisite pleasure, mingled with that subtle pain which
ecstasy always brings in its train, she laid her head upon his breast,
and hiding her eyes, murmured--
"I love you!"
If the words meant much to him--to him the man of the world before
whom many a beautiful woman had been ready to bow with complaisant
homage--if they meant much to him, how much more did they mean to her?
All her young maiden faith spoke in those three words. With them she
surrendered her young, pure life, her unstained, unsullied heart to
him. With a passion as intense as his own, she repaid him tenfold.
For a moment he was silent, his eyes fixed on the stars, his whole
being thrilling under the music--the joy of this simple avowal. Then
he pressed her to him, and poured a shower of kisses upon her hair and
upon her arm which lay across his breast.
"My darling, my darling!" he murmured. "Is it really true? Can I--dare
I believe it: you love me? Oh, my darling, the whole world seems
changed to me. You love me! See, Stella, it seems so wonderful that I
cannot realize it. Let me see your eyes, I shall find the truth there."
She pressed still closer to him, but he raised her head gently--in his
very touch was a caress, and it was as if his hands kissed her--and
looked long into the rapt, upturned eyes. Then he bent his head slowly,
and kissed her once--hungrily, clingingly.
Stella's eyes closed and her face paled under that passionate caress,
then slowly and with a little sigh she raised her head and kissed him
back again, kiss for kiss.
No word was spoken; side by side, with her head upon his breast, they
stood in silence. For them Time had vanished, the whole world seemed to
stand still.
Half amazed, with a dim wonder at this new delight which had entered
her life, Stella watched the stars and listened to the music of the
river. Something had happened to change her whole existence, it was
as if the old Stella whom she knew so well had gone, and a new being,
wonderfully blessed, wonderfully happy, had taken her place.