Part 3 (1/2)
”It is a German name,” she said. ”My uncle Robert hates it; he says it reminds him of Lion; but you know it is p.r.o.nounced Leon. My mother read some German story that had the name in it and gave it to me.”
”It suits you,” he said, simply; ”and I should not think there was another name in the world that would. I wonder,” he added, with a shy laugh, ”if you would like my name? It is Lancelot Chandos. My friends call me Lance.”
”Yes, I like that. I know all the history of Sir Lancelot. I admire him; but I think he was a weak man--do not you?”
”For loving Queen Guinevere? I do not know. Some love is strength, not weakness,” he replied.
Leone looked up at him again.
”Are you the son of a great lord?” she asked; ”some one told me so.”
”Yes; my father is Earl of Lanswell; and people would call him a great earl. He is rich and powerful.”
”What has brought you, the son of a great earl, down to Rashleigh?” she asked.
”My own idleness, to begin with,” he said. ”I have been at Oxford more years than I care to count; and I have idled my time.”
”Then you are studying?” she said.
”Yes, that is it. I am trying to make up for lost time. I have some examinations to pa.s.s; and my father has sent me down to Dr. Hervey because he is known everywhere as the cleverest coach in England.”
A cloud came for just one half minute across the face of the moon; the soft, sweet darkness startled Leone.
”I must go now,” she said; ”it is not only getting late, but growing dark.”
”I shall see you again,” he cried, ”do promise me.”
”Nay, you have little faith in promises,” she replied; and he watched her as she vanished from among the alder-trees.
It was an unexpected meeting; and strange and startling consequences soon followed.
CHAPTER IV.
AN INTERESTING TETE-A-TETE.
”Where have you been, Leone?” asks Farmer Noel.
She had begun a new life. It seemed years since she had left him, while he sat in the same place, smoking the same pipe, probably thinking the same thoughts. She came in with the brightness and light of the moon in her face; dew-drops lay on her dark hair, her beautiful face was flushed with the wind, so fair, so gracious, so royal, so brilliant. He looked at her in helpless surprise.
”Where have you been?” he repeated.
She looked at him with a sweet, dreamy smile.
”I have been to the mill-stream.” And she added in a lower tone, ”I have been to heaven.”
It had been heaven to her--this one hour spent with one refined by nature and by habit--a gentleman, a man of taste and education. Her uncle wondered that evening at the light that came on her face, at the cheerful sound of her voice, the smile that came over her lips. She was usually so restless and discontented.
It was a break in her life. She wanted something to interrupt the monotony, and now it had come. She had seen and spoken to not only a very handsome and distinguished man, but a lord, the son of an earl. He had admired her, said her face was like a poem; and the words brought a sweet, musing smile to her face.