“Miss Staveley,” he said, “in asking you to see me alone, I have made a great venture. I am indeed risking all that I most value.” And then he paused, as though he expected that she would speak. But she still kept her eyes upon the ground, and still stood silent before him. “I cannot but think you must guess my purpose,” he said, “though I acknowledge that I have had nothing that can warrant me in hoping for a favourable answer. There is my hand; if you can take it you need not doubt that you have my heart with it.” And then he held out to her his broad, right hand.
Madeline still stood silent before him and still fixed her eyes upon the ground, but very slowly she raised her little hand and allowed her soft slight fingers to rest upon his open palm. It was as though she thus affixed her legal signature and seal to the deed of gift. She had not said a word to him; not a word of love or a word of assent; but no such word was now necessary.
“Madeline, my own Madeline,” he said; and then taking unfair advantage of the fingers which she had given him he drew her to his breast and folded her in his arms.
It was nearly an hour after this when he returned to the drawing-room. “Do go in now,” she said. “You must not wait any longer; indeed you must go.”
“And you—; you will come in presently.”
“It is already nearly eleven. No, I will not show myself again tonight. Mamma will soon come up to me, I know. Good night, Felix. Do you go now, and I will follow you.” And then after some further little ceremony he left her.
When he entered the drawing-room Lady Staveley was there, and the judge with his teacup beside him, and Augustus standing with his back to the fire. Felix walked up to the circle, and taking a chair sat down, but at the moment said nothing.
“You didn’t get any wine after your day’s toil, Master Graham,” said the judge.
“Indeed I did, sir. We had some champagne.”
“Champagne, had you? Then I ought to have waited for my guest, for I got none. You had a long day of it in court.”
“Yes, indeed, sir.”
“And I am afraid not very satisfactory.” To this Graham made no immediate answer, but he could not refrain from thinking that the day, taken altogether, had been satisfactory to him.
And then Baker came into the room, and going close up to Lady Staveley, whispered something in her ear. “Oh, ah, yes,” said Lady Staveley. “I must wish you good night, Mr. Graham.” And she took his hand, pressing it very warmly. But though she wished him good night then, she saw him again before he went to bed. It was a family in which all home affairs were very dear, and a new son could not be welcomed into it without much expression of affection.
“Well, sir! and how have you sped since dinner?” the judge asked as soon as the door was closed behind his wife.
“I have proposed to your daughter and she has accepted me.” And as he said so he rose from the chair in which he had just now seated himself.
“Then, my boy, I hope you will make her a good husband;” and the judge gave him his hand.
“I will try to do so. I cannot but feel, however, how little right I had to ask her, seeing that I am likely to be so poor a man.”
“Well, well, well—we will talk of that another time. At present we will only sing your triumphs—
“So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.”
“Felix, my dear fellow, I congratulate you with all my heart,” said Augustus. “But I did not know you were good as a warrior.”
“Ah, but he is though,” said the judge. “What do you think of his wounds? And if all that I hear be true, he has other battles on hand. But we must not speak about that till this poor lady’s trial is over.”
“I need hardly tell you, sir,” said Graham, with that sheep-like air which a man always carries on such occasions, “that I regard myself as the most fortunate man in the world.”
“Quite unnecessary,” said the judge. “On such occasions that is taken as a matter of course.” And then the conversation between them for the next ten minutes was rather dull and flat.
Upstairs the same thing was going on, in a manner somewhat more animated, between the mother and daughter—for ladies on such occasions can be more animated than men.
“Oh, mamma, you must love him,” Madeline said.
“Yes, my dear; of course I shall love him now. Your papa says that he is very clever.”
“I know papa likes him. I knew that from the very first. I think that was the reason why—”
“And I suppose clever people are the best—that is to say, if they are good.”
“And isn’t he good?”
“Well—I hope so. Indeed, I’m sure he is. Mr. Orme was a very good young man too;—but it’s no good talking about him now.”
“Mamma, that never could have come to pass.”
“Very well, my dear. It’s over now, and of course all that I looked for was your happiness.”
“I know that, mamma; and indeed I am very happy. I’m sure I could not ever have liked anyone else since I first knew him.”
Lady Staveley still
