The People of the Mist | Page 6

except a name which you father has--well--tarnished--to use
your own word, you ask me for my dear daughter's hand? You are so
selfish that you wish not only to ruin her chances in life, but also to
drag her into the depths of your poverty. Leonard, I should never have
thought it of you!"
Then at last Leonard broke out.
"You do not speak the truth. I did not ask you for your daughter's hand.
I asked you for the promise of it when I should have shown myself
worthy of her. But now there is an end of that. I will go as you bid me
but before I go I will tell you the truth. You wish to use Jane's beauty to
catch this Jew with. Of her happiness you think nothing, provided only
you can secure his money. She is not a strong character, and it is quite
possible that you will succeed in your plot, but I tell you it will not
prosper. You, who owe everything to our family, now when trouble has
overtaken us, turn upon me and rob me of the only good that was left to
me. By putting an end to a connection of which everybody knew, you
stamp me still deeper into the mire. So be it, but of this I am sure, that
such conduct will meet with a due reward, and that a time will come
when you will bitterly regret the way in which you have dealt with your
daughter and treated me in my misfortunes. Good-bye."
And Leonard turned and left the room and the Rectory.
CHAPTER II

THE SWEARING OF THE OATH
Arthur Beach, Jane's brother, was standing in the hall waiting to speak
to Leonard, but he passed without a word, closing the hall door behind
him. Outside snow was falling, though not fast enough to obscure the
light of the moon which shone through the belt of firs.
Leonard walked on down the drive till he neared the gate, when
suddenly he heard the muffled sound of feet pursuing him through the
snow. He turned with an exclamation, believing that the footsteps were
those of Arthur Beach, for at the moment he was in no mood for further
conversation with any male member of that family. As it chanced,
however, he found himself face to face not with Arthur, but with Jane
herself, who perhaps had never looked more beautiful than she did at
this moment in the snow and the moonlight. Indeed, whenever Leonard
thought of her in after-years, and that was often, there arose in his mind
a vision of a tall and lovely girl, her auburn hair slightly powdered over
with the falling flakes, her breast heaving with emotion, and her wide
grey eyes gazing piteously upon him.
"Oh! Leonard," she said nervously, "why do you go without saying
good- bye to me?"
He looked at her awhile before he answered, for something in his heart
told him that this was the last sight which he should win of his love for
many a year, and therefore his eyes dwelt upon her as we gaze upon
one whom the grave is about to hide from us for ever.
At last he spoke, and his words were practical enough.
"You should not have come out in those thin shoes through the snow,
Jane. You will catch cold."
"I wish I could," she answered defiantly, "I wish that I could catch such
a cold as would kill me; then I should be out of my troubles. Let us go
into the summer-house; they will never think of looking for me there."
"How will you get there?" asked Leonard; "it is a hundred yards away,

and the snow always drifts in that path."
"Oh! never mind the snow," she said.
But Leonard did mind it, and presently he hit upon a solution of the
difficulty. Having first glanced up the drive to see that nobody was
coming, he bent forward and without explanation or excuse put his
arms around Jane, and lifting her as though she were a child, he bore
her down the path which led to the summer-house. She was heavy, but,
sooth to say, he could have wished the journey longer. Presently they
were there, and very gently he laid her on her feet again, kissing her
upon the lips as he did so. Then he took off his overcoat and wrapped it
round her shoulders.
All this while Jane had not spoken. Indeed, the poor girl felt so happy
and so safe in her lover's arms that it seemed to her as though she never
wished to speak, or to do anything for herself again. It was Leonard
who broke the silence.
"You ask me why I left without saying good-bye