Mina never hesitated, never delayed through bashfulness or any other feeling to comply with his orders. ‘Now,’ he continued, leaning his head towards hers and placing his hand on her shoulder, ‘are you happy, Mina? Do you want anything?’ ‘Nothing, my lord.’ She spoke truly; all that was capable of yielding her happiness on this side of eternity was at that moment within her reach. The room was full of calm. The lamps burnt as if they were listening. The fire sent up no flickering flame, but diffused a broad, still, glowing light over all the room. Zamorna touched her; his form and features filled her eye; his voice her ear; his presence her whole heart; she was soothed to perfect happiness. ‘My Fidelity!’ pursued that musical voice, ‘if thou hast any favour to ask, now is the time. I’m all concession: as yielding as a lady’s glove. Come, Mina, what is thy petition? and thy request even to the half of my kingdom shall be granted!’ ‘Nothing,’ again murmured Miss Laury. ‘Oh, my lord, nothing! What can I want?’ ‘Nothing?’ he repeated. ‘What! No reward for ten years of faith and love and devotion; no reward for the companionship in six-months’ exile; no recompense to the little hand that has so often smoothed my pillow in sickness, to the sweet lips that have many a time in cool and dewy health been pressed to a brow of fever; none to the dark Milesian eyes that ‘once grew dim with watching through endless nights by my bed of delirium? Need I speak of the sweetness and fortitude that cheered sufferings known only to thee and me? of the devotion that gave me bread when thou wert dying of hunger? and that scarcely more than a year since! For all this and much more, must there be no reward?’ ‘I have had it,’ said Miss Laury. ‘I have it now.’ ‘But,’ continued the duke, ‘what if I have devised something worthy of your acceptance? Look up now and listen to me.’ She did look up, but she speedily looked down again. Her master’s eye was insupportable; it burned absolutely with infernal fire! ‘What is he going to say?’ murmured Miss Laury to herself. She trembled. ‘I say, love,’ pursued the individual, drawing her a little closer to him, ‘I will give you as a reward a husband. Don’t start, now! And that husband shall be a nobleman; and that nobleman is called Lord Hartford! Now, stand up and let me look at you.’ He opened his arms and Miss Laury sprang erect like a loosened bow. ‘Your Grace is anticipated,’ she said. ‘That offer has been made me before. Lord Hartford did it himself three days ago.’ ‘And what did you say? Speak the truth now: subterfuge won’t avail you.’ ‘What did I say? I don’t know; it little signifies; you have rewarded me, my lord, but I cannot bear this: I feel sick.’ With a deep, short sob, she turned white, and fell close by the duke, her head against his foot.