'"
He sat at her feet, and held her white hands in his. He read the
grand, stirring words that at times seemed like the ring of
martial music, and again like the dirge of a soul in despair.
His clear, rich voice sounded pleasantly in the evening calm.
Beatrice's eyes lingered on the western sky all aflame, but her
thoughts were with Hugh Fernely.
What could she do? If she could but temporize with him, if she
could but pacify him, for a time, until she was married, all
would be safe. He would not dare to talk of claiming Lady Airlie
it would be vain if he did. Besides, she would persuade Lord
Airlie to go abroad; and, seeing all pursuit useless, Hugh would
surely give her up. Even at the very worst, if Hubert and she
were once married, she would not fear; if she confessed all to
him, he would forgive her. He might be very angry, but he would
pardon his wife. If he knew all about it before marriage, there
was no hope for her.
She must temporize with Fernely--write in a style that would
convey nothing, and tell him that he must wait. He could not
refuse. She would write that evening a letter that should give
him no hope, nor yet drive him to despair.
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