"I owe my life to Sir Norman Kingsley," murmured the faint, sweet voice
of the lady, "and could not rest until I had thanked him. I have no
words to say how deeply thankful and grateful I am."
"Fairest Leoline! one word from such lips would be enough to repay me,
had I done a thousandfold more," responded Norman, laying his hand on
his heart, with another deep genuflection.
"Very pretty indeed!" remarked Ormiston to himself, with a little
approving nod; "but I'm afraid they won't be able to keep it up, and go
on talking on stilts like that, till they have finished. Perhaps they
may get on all the better if I take myself off, there being always one
too many in a case like this." Then aloud: "Madame, I regret that I am
obliged to depart, having a most particular appointment; but, doubtless,
my friend will be able to express himself without my assistance. I have
the honor to wish you both good-night."
With which neat and appropriate speech, Ormiston bowed himself out, and
was gone before Leoline could detain him, even if she wished to do so.
Probably, however, she thought the care of one gentleman sufficient
responsibility at once; and she did not look very seriously distressed
by his departure; and, the moment he disappeared, Sir Norman brightened
up wonderfully.
It is very discomposing to the feelings to make love in the presence of
a third party; and Sir Norman had no intention of wasting his time on
anything, and went at it immediately. Taking her hand, with a grace
that would have beaten Sir Charles Grandison or Lord Chesterfield all
to nothing, he led her to a couch, and took a seat as near her as was
at all polite or proper, considering the brief nature of their
acquaintance. The curtains were drawn; the lamp shed a faint light; the
house was still, and there was no intrusive papa to pounce down upon
them; the lady was looking down, and seemed in no way haughty
or discouraging, and Sir Norman's spirits went up with a jump to
boiling-point.
Yet the lady, with all her pretty bashfulness, was the first to speak.
"I'm afraid, Sir Norman, you must think this a singular hour to come
here; but, in these dreadful times, we cannot tell if we may live from
one moment to another; and I should not like to die, or have you die,
without my telling, and you hearing, all my gratitude. For I do
assure you, Sir Norman," said the lady, lifting her dark eyes with the
prettiest and moat bewitching earnestness, "that I am grateful, though I
cannot find words to express it."
"Madame, I would not listen to you it you would; for I have done nothing
to deserve thanks. I wish I could tell you what I felt when Ormiston
told me you were alive and safe."