Free Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 by Plots (and) Counterplots (v1.1) Page B

listen; and I give you my word that I will conceal this interview.
Speak quickly—I must go,” cried Diana, won to compliance even against her
wishes.
                 “Stoop
to me—not even the air must hear what I breathe. Ask Allan Douglas the mystery
of his life before you marry him, else you will rue the hour that you became
his wife.”
                 “Allan
Douglas! You know his name? You know the secret of his past?” exclaimed Diana,
lost in wonder.
                 “My
husband knew him, and I— Hush! Someone is coming. Quick! Escape into the park,
or your face will betray you. I can command myself; I will meet and accost
whoever comes.”
                 Before
the rapid whisper ended, Diana was gone, and when Douglas came hastening to his tryst, he too found
Mrs. Vane alone—and he too paused a moment, surprised to see her there. But the
picture he saw was a very different one from that which arrested Diana. Great
indeed must have been Mrs. Vane’s command of countenance, for no trace of
agitation was visible, and never had she looked more lovely than now, as she
stood with a handful of flowers in the white skirt of her dress, her bright
hair blowing in the wind, her soft eyes fixed on vacancy, while a tranquil
smile proved that her thoughts were happy ones.
                 So
young, so innocent, so blithe she looked that Douglas involuntarily thought, with a touch of
self-reproach: “Pretty creature! What injustice my ungallant smile did her last
night! I ask her pardon.” Then aloud, as he approached, “Good
morning, Mrs. Vane. I am off for an early stroll.”
                 With
the shy grace, the artless glance of a child, she looked up at him, offering a
flower, and saying, as she smilingly moved on, “May it be a pleasant one.”
                 It
was not a pleasant one, however; and perhaps Mrs. Vane’s wish had been sweetly
ironical. Diana greeted her lover coldly, listened to his avowal with an air of
proud reserve, that contrasted strangely with the involuntary betrayals of love
and joy that escaped her. Entirely laying aside the chilly gravity, the lofty
manner, which was habitual to him, Douglas proved that he could woo ardently, and forget the pride of the man in the
passion of the lover. But when he sued for a verbal answer to his prayer,
although he thought he read the assent in the crimson cheek half turned away,
the downcast eyes, that would not meet his own, and the quick flutter of the
heart that beat under his hand, he was thunderstruck at the change which passed
over Diana. She suddenly grew colorless and calm as any statue, and freeing
herself from his hold, fixed a searching look upon him, while she said slowly
and distinctly, “When you have told me the mystery of your life, I will give my
answer to your love—not before.”
                 “The
mystery of my life!” he echoed, falling back a step or two, with such violent
discomposure in face and manner that Diana’s heart sank within her, though she
answered steadily:
                 “Yes;
I must know it, before I link my fate with yours.”
                 “Who
told you that I had one?” he demanded.
                 “Lady
Lennox. I had heard the rumor before, but never gave it thought till she
confirmed it. Now I wait for your explanation.”
                 “It
is impossible to give it; but I swear to you, Diana, that I am innocent of any
act that could dishonor my name, or mar your peace, if it were known. The
secret is not mine to tell; I have promised to keep it, and I cannot forfeit my
word, even for your sake. Be generous; do not let mere curiosity or pique
destroy my hopes, and make you cruel when you should be kind.”
                 So
earnestly he spoke, so tenderly he pleaded, that Diana’s purpose wavered, and
would have failed her, had not the memory of Mrs. Vane’s strange