She had taken in her hand one of the crimson flowers of the plant above her, and seemed lost in contemplating it. She saw neither the blossom nor the leaves. She was thinking of Lord Airlie's face, and the last words he had said to her, when suddenly a shadow fell before her, and looking up hastily, she saw him by her side. He appeared unlike himself, pale and anxious. "Beatrice," said he, "I must speak with you. Pray come with me, away from all these people. I can bear this suspense no longer." She looked at him, and would have refused; but she saw in his face that which compelled obedience. For Lord Airlie had watched Gaspar Laurence--he had watched the dance and the interview that followed it. He saw the softened look on her face, and it half maddened him. For the first time in his life Lord Airlie was fiercely jealous. He detested this fair-haired Gaspar, with his fund of German romance and poetry. Could it be that he would win the prize he himself would have died to secure? What was he saying to her that softened the expression on her face? What had he said that left her standing there with a tender light in her dark eyes which he had never seen before? He could not bear the suspense; perhaps a ball room might not be the most appropriate place for an offer of marriage, but he must know his fate, let it be what it might. He went up to her and made his request. "Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, suddenly, for Lord Airlie had walked rapidly through the suite of rooms, crowded with people, and through the long conservatory. "We are not alone," he replied. "See, Lady Laurence and Mr. Gresham prefer the rose garden here to those warm rooms. I must speak with you, Miss Earle. Let me speak now." They stood in the pretty garden, where roses of varied hues hung in rich profusion; the air was heavy with perfume. The moon shone brightly in the evening sky; its beams fell upon the flowers, bathing them in floods of silver light. A little rustic garden seat stood among the sleeping roses; and there Beatrice sat, wondering at the strong emotion she read in her lover's face. "Beatrice," he said, "I can bear it no longer. Why did Gaspar Laurence bend over you? What was he saying? My darling, do you not know how I love you--so dearly and so deeply that I could not live without you? Do you not know that I have loved you from the first moment I ever beheld you? Beatrice, my words are weak. Look at me--read the love in my face that my lips know not how to utter." But she never raised her eyes to him; the glorious golden light of love that had fallen upon her dazzled her. "You must not send me from you, Beatrice," he said, clasping her hands in his. "I am a strong man, not given to weakness; but, believe me, if you send me from you, it will kill me. Every hope of my life is centered in you. Beatrice, will you try to care for me?"