Lord Trevlyn’s face expressed a keen satisfaction and gladness. He held out his hand to his young kinsman, and said quietly:
“You have made a happy man of me, Randolph Trevlyn. In your hands I can place the future of my child with perfect confidence. You love her, and you will care for her, and make her life happy.”
“Indeed you may trust me to do all in my power. I love her with my whole heart. I would lay down my life to serve her.”
“As you have demonstrated already,” said the old earl, with a grave smile. “I have not thanked you for saving my child’s life. I hope in the future she will repay the debt by making your life happy, as you, I am convinced, will make hers.”
Randolph’s bronzed cheek flushed a little at these words.
“Lord Trevlyn,” he said, “to gain your goodwill and assent in this matter is a source of great satisfaction to me; but I cannot blind my eyes to the fear that Lady Monica herself, with whom the decision must rest, has not so far given me any encouragement to hope that she regards me as anything beyond a mere acquaintance and chance guest. I love her too well, I think, not to be well aware of her feelings towards me, and I cannot flatter myself for a moment by the belief that these are anything warmer than a sort of gentle liking, little removed from indifference.”
“Monica’s nature is peculiar,” he said; “her feelings lie very deep, and are difficult to read; no one can really know what they may be.”
“I admit that; yet I confess I have little hope—at least in the present.”
“Whilst I,” said Lord Trevlyn, quietly, “have little fear.”
“I cannot easily explain what I think, but I believe there will be less difficulty with Monica than you anticipate. She does not yet know her own heart—that I admit. She may be startled at first, but that is not necessarily against us. Will you let me break this matter to her? Will you let me act as your ambassador? I understand Monica as you can hardly do. Will you let me see if I cannot plead your cause as eloquently as you can do it for yourself? Trust me it will be better so. My daughter and I understand one another well.”
Randolph was silent a moment, then he said, very gravely and seriously:
“If you think that it will be best so, I gladly place myself in your hands. I confess I should find it difficult to approach the subject myself—at any rate at present. But”—he paused a moment, and looked the other full in the face—“pardon me for saying as much—you do not propose putting any pressure upon your daughter? Believe me, I would rather never see her face again than feel that she accepted me as a husband under any kind of compulsion or restraint.”