"Well, if neither I nor my sisters have hurt your feelings, Hannah, what
in the name of sense did you mean by saying--I hate even to repeat the
words--that you won't marry me?"
"Reuben, reproach has fallen upon my name--undeserved, indeed, but not
the less severe. You have young, unmarried sisters, with nothing but
their good names to take them through the world. For their sakes, dear,
you must not marry me and my reproach!"
"Is that all you mean, Hannah?"
"All."
"Then I will marry you!"
"Reuben, you must give me up."
"I won't, I say! So there, now."
"Dear Reuben, I value your affection more than I do anything in this
world except duty; but I cannot permit you to sacrifice yourself to me,"
said Hannah, struggling hard to repress the sobs that were again rising
in her bosom.
"Hannah, I begin to think you want to drive me crazy or break my heart!
What sacrifice would it be for me to marry you and adopt that poor
child? The only sacrifice I can think of would be to give you up! But I
won't do it! no! I won't for nyther man nor mortal! You promised to
marry me, Hannah, and I won't free your promise! but I will keep you to
it, and marry you, if I die for it!" grimly persisted Reuben Gray.
And before she could reply they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in!" said Hannah, expecting to see Mrs. Jones or some other humble
neighbor.
The door was pushed gently open, and a woman of exceeding beauty stood
upon the threshold.
Her slender but elegant form was clothed in the deepest mourning; her
pale, delicate face was shaded by the blackest ringlets; her large, dark
eyes were fixed with the saddest interest upon the face of Hannah Worth.
Hannah arose in great surprise to meet her.
"You are Miss Worth, I suppose?" said the young stranger.
"Yes, miss; what is your will with me?"
"I am the Countess of Hurstmonceux. Will you let me rest here a little
while?" she asked, with a sweet smile.
Hannah gazed at the speaker in the utmost astonishment, forgetting to
answer her question, or offer a seat, or even to shut the door, through
which the wind was blowing fiercely.
What! was this beautiful pale young creature the Countess of
Hurstmonceux, the rival of Nora, the wife of Herman Brudenell, the "bad,
artful woman" who had entrapped the young Oxonian into a discreditable
marriage? Impossible!