"
"Do you feel ill, Maude?"
"Not exactly ill; but--I think I ought to be careful. Percival," she
breathed, "mamma asked me whether I was trying to destroy the hope of an
heir to Hartledon."
An ice-bolt shot through him at the reminder. Better an heir should never
be born, if it must call him father!
"I fainted to-day, Val," she continued to whisper.
He passed his arm round his wife's waist, and drew her closer to him.
Not upon her ought he to visit his sin: she might have enough to bear,
without coldness from him; rather should he be doubly tender.
"You did not tell me about it, love. Why have you gone out this evening?"
he asked reproachfully.
"It has not harmed me. Indeed I will take care, for your sake. I should
never forgive myself."
"I have thought since we married, Maude, that you did not much care for
me."
Maude made no immediate answer. She was looking out straight before her,
her head on his shoulder, and Lord Hartledon saw that tears were
glistening in her eyes.
"Yes, I do," she said at length; and as she spoke she felt very conscious
that she _was_ caring for him. His gentle kindness, his many attractions
were beginning to tell upon her heart; and a vision of the possible
future, when she should love him, crossed her then and there as she
stood. Lord Hartledon bent his face, and let it rest on hers.
"We shall be happy yet, Val; and I will be as good as gold.
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