Part 47 (2/2)

”Because I love you!”

The words were out, and Leonie, springing to her feet, drew back as the man rose and stood motionless in the dancing shadows thrown by the fire.

”What do you mean? Oh, how dare you----”

”How dare I--_dare_ I--tell you that I love you and want you for wife?

Why should I not love you from your beautiful head to your perfect feet? Why should you not be my wife? Because I am what you call _black_? because of this colouring of my skin which, outside my own land, d.a.m.ns me to eternity, and bars me from all that I desire? Nay, you _shall_ listen, and you _shall_ answer! You _will_, will you not?”

The voice had dropped from the pitch of fierce denunciation to the sound as of a deep river flowing in pleasant places, and Leonie nodded mutely, succ.u.mbing, as is the way of woman, to the entrancing pastime of playing with fire.

She closed her eyes and clasped her hands tightly together when the man, stepping across the barriers of interracial convention, came and stood just behind her shoulder without touching her withal, and spoke in his own tongue.

”Ah, woman, I would call thee wife. Behold, I have much to offer: a great name, vast wealth, palaces, broad lands, jewels, elephants, villages; the esteem of my people, the love of my father and of my mother, of whom I am the only son. All of which is nothing, nothing compared with my love for thee. A love as virgin as the snow upon the Everlasting Hills, swifter than Mother Ganges, deeper than the Indian Ocean, and higher than the vault of heaven. What matter custom, or law, or regulation, or colour, when such a love as mine is offered?

Thou as my wife, _thou_, and thy children my only children. Am I not beautiful? even as beautiful a male as thou art a female? Would not the days and the nights, the months and the years be as heaven--together? _Love me_--nay! say but that I may call thee wife.

Give me thy promise and I will save thee!”

”Save me?--from what?”

Leonie turned and faced this splendid lover, s.h.i.+vering slightly as a low moaning wind rustled the leaves of the trees and stirred the undergrowth.

”Even from death!”

”Death?” she said quietly, looking straight into the man's eyes.

”_Death_--for _me_? Why I thought I was being willed to the temple to make sacrifice to your G.o.d?”

”To-night thou must surely die unless I save thee.”

”Oh! you are mistaken,” came the quick, decisive reply. ”Why, if I was murdered, the whole Empire would be up in arms.”

”The British Raj would not know,” was the quiet answer.

”Oh! but----”

”You have not seen the Fort of Agra, the sad, dead palace. There, in the dungeons, is a beam stretched across the hidden wells and marked with the fret of a rope. Many a beautiful woman has swung from that beam by neck, or feet, or wrists, and her body dropped through the well into the Holy Jumna without the knowledge of any save her master and her executioner.”

”Oh!--oh! don't----”

”Twice,” continued the quiet voice relentlessly, ”the sacrifice has been averted, but _now_ the hour has come. Thou art here alone, none knowing, and I--I _alone_ can save thee. And will not Kali, our mother, raise her hands in blessing upon us united, even as we were united when babes, and being appeased, lift the curse from off the land. She is soft and gentle, treading lightly upon life's stony paths, Uma so sweet, Parvati, daughter of the eternal snows. Oh!

woman, say that thou wilt be my wife, for behold, are we not marked with the same mark which----”

”Mark? _What_ mark?” Leonie questioned abruptly, looking back over her shoulder, her mouth perilously near to his as he bent his head slightly towards her; and there fell a little silence in which the thudding of his heart could be felt against the silk thread of her jersey.

”Between thy b.r.e.a.s.t.s, thou white dove, hast thou no mark?”

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