“Margery,” he said, softly, “is mother the only one who wants you? Will you not stay with me? Ah, my darling,” he cried, bending to catch her other hand and seeing the trembling lips and great, wondrous, startled eyes, “I have frightened you! You do not know--how could you?--how much you have become to me. Margery, I did not mean to speak yet--I meant to wait, and let your love grow; but your sweet face has urged me, and I can wait no longer. Margery, my own darling, I love you! Do you love me?” Margery felt herself drawn into his strong arms. She looked up at him for one instant, then said softly: “Love! What is love?” “Love,” cried Stuart, “is the greatest joy or the greatest pain. To love is to think, dream, live only for one person, to be happy when near them, lonely when away, ever longing to clasp their hand, listen to their voice, as I have done these past weeks, my own sweet dear one.” “Then”--the color came vividly into the cream-white cheeks, the eyelids drooped, and the graceful head was bent--“then I do love you, Mr. Stuart; but----” “But!” interrupted Stuart, gathering her to his arms. “There is no ‘but,’ my darling, my very own! Oh, Margery, if you could know what happiness I feel! It is such peace after doubt and perplexity. See--just now you threw my hand away; I give it to you again, my darling, yours to defend and tend you when you are my wife.” “Your wife!” faltered Margery; and she trembled--the suddenness, the sweetness of this news seemed to have taken all strength from her. She lived in an indescribable dream of happiness; Stuart’s arms were round her, his eyes gazed into hers, his voice was whispering tenderly in her ear. She could not then grasp the full extent of her joy, she was dazed by the passion and depths of his love. “Yes, my wife, thank Heaven!” said Stuart, reverently raising one small hand to his lips. “Margery, each day that has gone has linked me closer to you--try as I would, my love would turn to you. There may be storms in life before us,” he went on, hurriedly, involuntarily drawing the slender form closer to him as he thought of his mother’s anger--“there may be trials, battles to fight; but we will be firm and trust in each other. If we have love, we shall be satisfied.” “My love will never, never die,” Margery murmured slowly, drawing herself out of his arms. “But it is all so strange--you to love me! And--ah, what will madame say, Mr. Stuart? I don’t know why, but I am sure she does not like me.” “Margery”--and Stuart drew her back to him again and kissed her sweet lips--“we are pledged to each other, and none shall part us. Leave all to me, and it will come right. And now I have a lesson to teach you--henceforth I am Stuart, and Stuart only; don’t forget.”