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While be was still a boy he had only laughed at it. Philippa was a beautiful, high-sprited girl. Her vivacity and animation amused him. He had spoken the truth in saying that he had met no one he liked better than his old friend. He had seen beautiful girls, lovely women, but he had not fallen in love. Indeed, love with the Arleighs was a serious matter. They did not look lightly upon it. Norman.
He would expect the dead and gone Arleighs to rise from their graves in utter horror, he would expect some terrible curse to fall on him, were so terrible a desecration to happen. They must part. The girl he loved with all the passionate love of his heart, the fair young wife whom he worshiped must go from him, and he must see her no more. She must be his wife in name only.
He is a man of honor. He would not make love to her without intending to marry her." "But there is not a better family in England than the Arleighs of Beechgrove, Philippa. It would be terrible for him such a mésalliance; surely he will never dream of it." "She is beautiful, graceful, gifted, and good," was the rejoinder. "But it is useless for us to argue about the matter.
Looking up, he saw her she was at the other end of the gallery; he saw the tall, slender figure and the sweeping dress he saw the white arms with their graceful contour, the golden hair, the radiant face and he groaned aloud; he saw her looking up at the pictures as she passed slowly along the ancestral Arleighs of whom he was so proud.
"Yes," he replied; "one of the traditions of our house is 'truth in friendship, trust in love, honor in war. To be a true friend and a noble foe is characteristic of the Arleighs." "I hope that you will never be a foe of mine," she rejoined, laughingly. And that evening, thinking over the events of the day she flattered herself that she had made some little progress after all.
If he had known all that he would have to suffer before eleven at night, Lord Arleigh, with all his bravery, all his chivalry, would have been ready to fling himself from the green hill-top into the shimmering sea. It was the custom of the Arleighs to spend their honeymoon at home; they had never fallen into the habit of making themselves uncomfortable abroad.
"Do not speak to me," she said, "lest I should lose the echo of his voice;" and Lady Peters watched her anxiously, as she stood with a rapt smile on her face, as of one who has heard celestial music in a dream. The Arleighs of Beechgrove had for many generations been one of the wealthiest as well as one of the noblest families in England.
The duchess, with a charming gesture of invitation made room for Lord Arleigh by her side. The gallant captain did not often find an opportunity of making love to the belle of the season. Now that he had found it, he was determined not to lose it not for fifty Lord Arleighs. So, while the duchess talked to the new-comer, he relentlessly pursued his conversation with Miss L'Estrange.
The picture-gallery was one of the chief attractions of Beechgrove; like the grand old trees, it had been the work of generations. The Arleighs had always been great patrons of the fine arts; many a lord of Beechgrove had expended what was a handsome fortune in the purchase of pictures.
When she had reached the end, he saw her draw aside the hangings and stand for a minute looking at the pictured faces of the Arleighs; then she disappeared, and he was left alone. He buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly. "I could curse the woman who has wrought this misery!" he exclaimed, presently.
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