"Beauty!" she sighed, "oh, it is only for that he--wanted me, and
dear heaven! I love him so much that--if he asked me--I fear--" and
she hid her burning face in hands that trembled.
"Clemency!"
The word was hoarse and low, scarcely more than a whisper, but, even
so, Clemency started and lifted her head to stare wide-eyed at the
figure leaning in the doorway, with one hand outstretched to her
appealingly; a tall figure, cloaked from head to foot, with hat
drawn low over his brows, his right arm carried in a sling. And as
she gazed, Clemency uttered a low, soft cry, and rose to her feet.
"My Lord!" she whispered, "oh, my Lord!"
"Dearest!"
The Viscount stepped into the room and, uncovering his head, sank
upon his knees before her.
"Oh, Clemency," said he, "the door was open and I heard it
all--every word. But, dearest, you need never fear me any
more--never any more, because I love you. Clemency, and here, upon
my knees, beg you to honor me by--marrying me, if you will stoop to
such a pitiful thing as I am. Clemency dear, I have been ill, and it
has taught me many things, and I know now that I--cannot live
without you.
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