'And you will love me still, Flora, in spite of this bitter affront to which you are subjected for my sake?' said Lennard.
'Yes,' said the girl passionately, 'I love you, Lennard—love you so much,' she added, while her soft voice broke and her blossom-like lips quivered, 'that were I to lose you I would die!'
'My darling, you cannot lose me now,' he responded, while tenderly caressing her.
'Are we foolish to talk in this fashion, Lennard?'
'Foolish?'
'Yes—or rash. I have heard that it is not lucky for people to love each other so much as we do.'
'Could we love each other less?'
'I don't think so,' said she simply and sweetly, as he laid her cheek on his breast with her upturned eyes gazing into his.
The girl was slight and slender, yet perfect was every curve of her shapely figure, which was destitute of any straight line; even her nose was, in the slightest degree, aquiline. Her beautifully arched mouth, the scarlet line of her upper lip, and the full round of the nether one were parted in a tender smile, just enough to show her teeth, defied all criticism; her complexion was pure and soft, and her eyes were of the most liquid hazel, with almost black lashes. Her hair was of the same tint, and Flora seemed a lady to perfection, especially by the whiteness and delicacy of her beautifully shaped little hands.
When she walked she did so gracefully, as all Highland women do, and like them held her head poised on her slender neck so airily and prettily that her nurse, Madelon, called her 'the swan.'
'How I trembled, Lennard,' said she, after a pause, 'as I thought of the mauvais quart d'heure you were undergoing at Craigengowan.'
'It was a mauvais hour and more, darling.'
'And ever and anon I felt that strange chill, or shudder, which Nurse Madelon says people feel when some one crosses the place where their grave is to be. How can your parents be so cruel to you?'
'And to you, Flora!'
'Ah, that is different,' she replied, with her eyes full of unshed tears, and in a pained voice. 'Doubtless they consider me a very designing girl; but in spite of that, you will always care for me as much as you do now?'
'Why such fears? Ever and always—ever and always, my darling,' said Lennard Melfort, stopping her questioning lips most effectually for a time.
'Oh, if you should ever come to regret, and with regret to love me less!' said she, in a low voice, with her eyes for a moment fixed on vacancy.
'Why that boding thought, Flora?'
'Because, surely, such great love never lasts.'
He kissed her again as the readiest response.
But the sequel proved that his great love outlasted her own life, poor girl!
Then they sat long silent, hand locked in hand, while the gloaming deepened round them, for words seem poor and feeble when the heart is very full.
'How long will they continue to despise me?' said Flora suddenly, while across her soft cheeks there rushed the hot blood of a long and gallant line of Celtic ancestors.
An exclamation of bitterness—almost impatience, escaped Lennard.
'Let us forget them—father, mother, all!' said he.
The girl looked passionately into the face of her lover-husband—the husband of a month; and never did her bright hazel eyes seem more tender and soft than now, with all the fire of love and pride sparkling in their depths, for her Highland spirit and nature revolted at the affront to which she was subjected.
The bearing of Lennard Melfort and the poise of his close-shorn head told that he was a soldier, and a well-drilled one; and the style of his light grey suit showed how thoroughly he was a gentleman; and to Flora's loving and partial eye he was every-way a model man.
They had been married just a month, we have said, a month that very day, and Lennard had brought his bride to the little burgh town, within a short distance of Craigengowan, and left her in their apartments while he sought with his father and mother the bootless interview just narrated.
For three days before he had the courage to bring it about, they had spent the time together, full of hopeful thoughts, strolling along the banks of the pretty Bervie, from the blue current of which ever and anon the bull-trout and the salmon rise to the flies; or in the deep and leafy recourses of the adjacent woods, and climbing the rugged coast, against which the waves of the German Sea were rolling in golden foam; or ascending Craig David, so called from David II. of Scotland—a landmark from the sea for fifteen leagues—for both had a true and warm appreciation and artistic love of Nature in all her moods and aspects.
The sounds of autumn were about them now; the hum of insects and the song of the few birds that yet sang; the fragrance of the golden broom and the sweet briar, with a score of other sweet and indefinable scents and balmy breaths. All around them was scenic beauty and peace, and yet with all their great love for each other, their hearts were heavy at the prospect of their future, which must be a life of banishment in India, and to the heaviness of Lennard was added indignation and sorrow. But he could scarcely accuse himself of having acted rashly in the matter of his marriage, for to that his family would never have consented; and he often thought could his mother but see Flora in her beauty and brightness, looking so charming in her smart sealskin and bewitching cap and feather, and long skirt of golden-brown silk that matched her hair and eyes—every way a most piquante-looking girl!
Young though he was, and though a second son, Lennard Melfort had been a favourite with more than one Belgravian belle and her mamma, and there were few who had not something pleasant or complimentary to say of him since his return from India. At balls, fêtes, garden and water parties, girls had given him the preference to many who seemed more eligible, had reserved for him dances on their programmes, sang for him, made unmistakable œillades, and so forth; for his handsome figure and his position made him very acceptable, though he had not the prospects of his elder brother, the Hon. Cosmo.
Lady Fettercairn knew how Lennard was regarded and valued well, and nourished great hopes therefrom; but this was all over and done with now.
To her it seemed as if he had thrown his very life away, and that when his marriage with a needy governess—however beautiful and well born she might be—became known, all that charmed and charming circle in Belgravia and Tyburnia would regard him as a black sheep indeed; would shake their aristocratic heads, and pity poor Lord and Lady Fettercairn for having such a renegade son.
Flora's chief attendant—a Highland woman who had nursed her in infancy—was comically vituperative and indignant at the affront put by these titled folks upon 'her child' as she called her.
Madelon Galbraith was strong, healthy, active, and only in her fortieth year, with black eyes and hair, a rich ruddy complexion, a set of magnificent white teeth, and her manner was full of emphatic, almost violent, gesticulation peculiar to many Highlanders, who seem to talk with their hands and arms quite as much as the tongue.
Sometimes Madelon spoke in her native Gaelic, but generally in the dialect of the Lowlands.
'Set them up indeed,' she muttered; 'wha are the Melforts o' Fettercairn, that they should slight you—laoghe mo chri?' she added, softly (calf of my heart). 'What a pity it is ye canna fling at their heads the gold they love, for even a Lowland dog winna yowl gin ye pelt him wi' banes. But you've begun wi' love and marriage, and a gude beginning mak's a gude ending.'
'But we shall be so poor, Nursie Madelon, and I have ruined my poor Lennard,' urged Flora, as the kind woman caressed her.
'They say a kiss and a cup of water mak' but a wersh breakfast,' laughed Madelon; 'but you're no sae puir as that comes to, my darling.'
'Not quite' said Flora, laughing faintly, in turn. 'Yet I have sorely injured my husband's prospects.'
'Tut, tut, my bairn. Ony man can woo, but he weds only whar his weird lies; and so Captain Melfort wedded you, and wha better? Then what is a Lord that we should lippen to him? As long as ye serve a tod ye maun carry his tail? And your father's daughter may carry her head wi' the highest.'
Lennard Melfort now resolved neither verbally nor by letter to have further intercourse with his family at Craigengowan or elsewhere, but before he could make up his mind what to do or could betake him south, as he meant to quit Scotland without delay, on the day subsequent to the stormy interview Madelon announced a visitor, and on a salver brought in a card inscribed—'MR. KENNETH KIPPILAW, W.S.’