I object to that. Tell me, since you wish so much to be Signor Ghisleri, what do you think you would feel if you were?"
"What he feels—everything that a man can feel!" answered Arden, with a sudden change of tone. "To be straight and strong and a match for other men. Half the happiness of life lies there."
His voice shook a little, and Laura felt that the tears were almost in her eyes as she looked earnestly into his.
"You see what I am," he continued, more and more bitterly, "I am a cripple. There is no denying it—why should I even try to hide it a little? Nature, or Heaven, or what you please to call it, has been good enough to make concealment impossible. If I am not quite a hunchback, I am very near it, and I can hardly walk even with a stick. And look at yourself, straight and graceful and beautiful—well, you pity me, at least. Why should I make a fool of myself? It is the first time I ever spoke like this to any one."
"You are quite wrong," answered Laura, in a tone of conviction. "I do not pity you—indeed I do not think you are the least to be pitied. I see it quite differently. It hardly ever strikes me that you are not just the same as other people, and when it does—I do not know—I mean to say that when it does, it makes no painful impression upon me. You see I am quite frank."
While she was speaking the colour rose in two bright spots on Arden's pale cheeks, and his bright eyes softened with a look of wonderful happiness.
"Are you quite in earnest, Miss Carlyon?" he asked, in a low voice.
"Quite, quite in earnest. Please believe me when I say that it would hurt me dreadfully if I thought you doubted it."
"Hurt you? Why?"
She turned her deep, sad eyes to him, and looked at him without speaking. He was on the point of telling her that he loved her—then he saw how beautiful she was, and he felt his withered knee under his hand, and he was ashamed to speak. It was a cruel moment, and his nerves were already overstrained by perpetual emotion, as well as tired from late hours and lack of sleep. He hesitated a moment. Then bent his head and covered his eyes with his hand. Laura said nothing for several moments, but seeing that he did not move, she touched his sleeve.
"Dear Lord Herbert, do not be so unhappy," she said softly. "You really have no right to be, you know."
"No right?" He looked up suddenly. "If you knew, you would not say that."
"I should always say it. As long as you have friends—friends who love you, and would do anything for you, why should you make yourself so miserable?"
"I want more than a friend—even than friendship."
"What?"
"I want love."
Again she gazed into his eyes and paused. Her face was very white—whiter than his. Then she spoke.
"Are you so sure you have not got that love?" she asked. Her own voice trembled now.
Arden started and a look of something almost like fear came into his face. He could hardly speak.
"Love?" he repeated, and he felt he could say nothing more.
"Yes, I mean it." So she chose her fate.
She thought there was a touch of the divine in poor Arden's expression as he heard the words. Then his face grew pale, the light faded from his eyes, and his head sank on his breast. Laura did not at first realise what had happened. She felt so strongly herself, that nothing in his manner would have surprised her. She heard nothing of the hum of the voices in the room, or if she did, she heard the harmony of a happy hymn, and the great branches of candles were the tapers upon an altar in some sacred place.
Still Arden did not move. Laura bent down and looked at his face.
"Lord Herbert!" She called him softly. "Herbert, what is the matter?"
No answer came. She looked round wildly for help. At that moment the dance was just over and Ghisleri passed near her with Donna Adele on his arm. Laura rose and overtook him swiftly, touching his arm in her excitement.
"Lord Herbert has fainted—for heaven's sake, help him!" she cried, in a low voice.
Pietro Ghisleri glanced at the sofa.
"Excuse me," he said hastily to Donna Adele, and left her standing in the middle of the room. He bent down and felt Arden's forehead and hands.
"Yes, he has fainted," he said to Laura. "Show me the way to a quiet place."
Thereupon he took his unconscious friend in his arms and followed Laura quickly through the surging crowd that already filled the room, escaping in haste from the heat as soon as the dance was over in the ball-room beyond.
For a few seconds one of those total silences fell upon the party which always follow an accident. Then, as Ghisleri disappeared with his burden, every one began to talk at once, speculating upon the nature of Lord Herbert Arden's indisposition. Heart disease—epilepsy—nervous prostration—most things were suggested.
"Probably too much champagne," laughed Donna Adele in the ear of the lady nearest to her.
CHAPTER III.
It is perhaps useless to attempt to trace and recapitulate the causes which had led Laura Carlyon to the state of mind in which she had found courage to tell Arden that she loved him. There might be harder moments in store for her, but this had been the hardest she had known hitherto. Nothing short of a real and great love, she believed, could have carried her through it, and she had been conscious for some days that if the opportunity came she meant to do what she had done. In other words, she had been quite sure that Arden loved her and that she loved him. This being granted, it was in accordance with her character to take the initiative. With far less sympathy than she felt in all her thoughts, she would have understood that a man of his instincts would never speak of his love to her unless almost directly bidden to do so. Laura was slow to make up her mind, sure of her decision when reached, and determined to act upon it without consulting any one. Many people said later that she had sacrificed herself for Lord Herbert's expected fortune, or for his position. A few said that she was a very good woman and that, finding herself neglected, she had decided to devote her life to the happiness of a very unhappy man for whom she felt a sincere friendship. That was at least the more charitable view. But neither was at all the right one. She honestly and really believed that she loved the man: she saw beyond a doubt that he loved her, and she took the shortest and most direct way of ending all doubts on the subject. On that same night when Arden had quite recovered and had gone home with Ghisleri, she spoke to her mother and told her exactly what had happened.
The Princess of Gerano opened her quiet brown eyes very wide when she heard the news. She was handsome still at five and forty, a little stout, perhaps, but well proportioned. Her light brown hair was turning grey at the temples, but there were few lines in her smooth, calm face, and her complexion was still almost youthful, though with little colouring. She looked what she was, a woman of the world, very far from worldly, not conscious of half the evil that went on around her, and much given to inward contemplation of a religious kind when not actively engaged in social duty. She had seen Laura's growing appreciation of Arden and had noticed the frequency of the latter's
