er lose all I have in the
world than lose you."

"It is sweet to be loved so well," she said, with a sigh.

"I have had letters from home to-day," he said, "and I--I am half afraid
to tell you lest you should say no. I am to leave Rashleigh in one month
from now, and to go to my father's house--Cawdor, it is called. Leone, I
cannot go alone."

She looked at him with wondering eyes; the ardent young lover who
believed his love to be so great and so generous, yet who, in reality,
loved himself best, even in his love.

"Darling, I want you to consent to be my wife before I leave Rashleigh,"
he continued. "I know it will be the best and easiest plan if I can but
win your consent."

Her loving heart seemed almost to stand still; the crimson clouds and
the rippling waters seemed to meet; even in her dreams she had never
imagined herself his wife.

Lord Chandos continued:

"I know my parents well; my father is inflexible on some points, but
easily influenced; my mother is, I believe, the proudest woman in the
wide world. I know that she expects something wonderful from me in the
way of marriage; I hardly think that there is a peeress in England that
my mother would deem too good for me, and it would wound her to the
heart should I marry a woman beneath me in rank. Indeed I know she would
never forgive me."

She uttered a little, low cry.

"Then why have you loved me?" she asked.

Her lover laughed.

"How could I help it, my darling? In you I have found the other half of
my own soul. I could no more help loving you than a bird can help
singing. But listen, Leone; it is as I say, if I were to go home and
pray all day to them it would be useless. I have another plan. Marry me,
and I can take you to them and say, 'This is my wife.' They could not
help receiving you then, because the marriage could not be undone, and
my mother, with her worldly tact, would made the best of it then. If I
ask permission to marry you, they will never grant it; if I marry you,
they will be compelled to forgive it."

She drew herself half proudly from him.

"I do not wish any one to be compelled to receive me, nor do I wish to
be the cause of unpleasantness," she said.

"My darling, all lovers have something to suffer. The course of true
love cannot run smooth. Surely you would not desert me, or forsake me,
or refuse to love me because I cannot change the opinion of my
conservative parents. I know no lady, no peeress in England, who i