He little knew what he had done. When Lord Airlie fastened the
chain round the neck of the girl he loved, he bound her to him in
life and in death.
"It looks charming," he said. "How everything beautiful becomes
you, Beatrice! You were born to be a queen--who am I that I
should have won you? Tell me over again--I never grow tired of
hearing it--do you love me?"
She told him again, her face glowing with happiness. He bent
over her and kissed the sweet face; he kissed the little white
hands and the rings of dark hair the wind blew carelessly near
him.
"When the leaves are green, and the fair spring is come," he
said, "you will be my wife, Beatrice--Lady Airlie of Lynnton. I
love my name and title when I remember that you will share them.
And you shall be the happiest Lady Airlie that ever lived--the
happiest bride, the happiest wife the sun ever shone upon. You
will never part with my locket, Beatrice?"
"No," she replied; "never. I will keep it always."
They sat through the long bright hours under the shade of the old
cedar tree, while Lillian lay with head and heart aching,
wondering in her gentle way why this sorrow should have fallen
upon her.
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