othing but a dream," said Linton,
pressing her gently down again. "Do not think more of it."

"Where am I?" said she, drawing a long breath.

"In your own dressing-room, dearest," said he, in an accent of deep
devotion.

"And you, sir? Why are _you_ here? and by what right do you address me
thus?"

"By no right," said Linton, with a submissive deference which well
became him. "I can plead nothing, save the devotion of a heart long
since your own, and the good wishes of your father, Maritana, who bade
me speak to you."

"I will not believe it, sir," said she, proudly, as she arose and walked
the room with stately step. "I know but too well the influence you wield
over him, although I cannot tell how it is acquired. I have seen your
counsels sway and your wishes guide him, when my entreaties were unheard
and unheeded. Tell me nothing, then, of his permission."

"Let me speak of that better reason, where my heart may plead, Maritana.
It was to offer you a share in my fortunes that I have come here,--to
place at your feet whatever I possess in rank, in station, and in future
hope; to place you where your beauty and your fascinations entitle you
to shine,--a peeress of the Court of France; a duchess, of a name only
second to royalty itself."

The girl's dark eyes grew darker, and her flushed cheek grew crimson, as
with heaving bosom she listened. "A duchess!" murmured she, between her
lips.

"La Duchesse de Marlier," repeated Linton, slowly, while his keen eyes
were riveted on her.

"And this real--not a pageant--not as that thing you made of me before?"

"La Duchesse de Marlier," said Linton again, "knows of no rank above
her own, save in the blood royal. Her chateau was the present of a
king,--her grounds are worthy of such a donor."

"And the Duke de Marlier," said she, with a look of ineffable irony,
"who is to play _him?_ Is that part reserved for Mr. Linton?"

"Could he not look the character?" said Linton, putting on a smile of
seeming good-humor, while his lip trembled with passion.

"Look it,--ay, that could he; and if looks would suffice, he could be
all that his ambition aims at."

"You doubt my sincerity, Maritafia," said he, sorrowfully; "have I ever
given you cause to do so?"

"Never," cried she, impetuously: "I read you from the first hour I saw
you. You never deceived _me_. My training has not been like that of
others of my sex and age, amidst the good, the virtuous, and the pure.
It was t