Mayne Reid

“ Both now experienced the pleasure of surrendering them again. No more might jealousy intrude itself upon their enjoyment; and, for a while, they even forgot those trifling signs that had led to it—she the faded flowers—he that sinister gauntlet.
It was only natural, however, that the causes of their late mistrust should become the subject of conversation; which they did.
Mutual surprise was the result of a mutual interrogation; though neither could give to the other the explanation asked for.
The flowers in Holtspur’s hat, and the glove in Scarthe’s helmet, were enigmas equally inexplicable. ”

“ The black horseman, waving his sword in the air, gave out a shout of triumph—such as he had erst often uttered in the ears of Indian foemen—while the horse himself, as if conscious of the advantage thus gained, sent forth a shrill neigh, that resembled the scream of a jaguar.
With a glance over his shoulder, Scarthe perceived the approaching danger. By attempting to turn, he would expose himself sideways to the thrust of his adversary’s sword.
There was no chance to turn just then. He must make distance to obtain an opportunity. His only hope lay in the fleetness of his steed ”

“ Surely I need not name the object of my love. You cannot have been blind to emotions—to sufferings—I have been unable to conceal. I can be silent no longer. O Marion Wade! I love you with all the fondness of a true affection—all the fervour of an admiration that knows no limits. Do not be angry at me for thus declaring myself. Do not frown upon my suit. O, beautiful Marion! say that I may hope?”
Scarthe had dashed his helmet to the ground, and flung himself on his knees in the attitude of an humble suppliant. ”

“ It was no young love’s dream,—no fickle fondness—that filled the bosoms of Henry Holtspur and Marion Wade; but a love that burned with a bold, blazing flame—like a torch that no time could extinguish—such a love as may exist between the eagle and his majestic mate.
With all its boldness, it sought not notoriety. The scenes in which it was displayed lay not inside the walls of the proud mansion; nor yet within the enclosure of its park. A spot to Marion Wade reminiscent of the keenest pang she had ever experienced—was now the oft-repeated scene of earth’s purest pleasure—at least its supremest. ”

“ And with this characteristic speech, the cornet hastened out of the room.
“I must win this woman,” said Scarthe, rising to his feet, and striding across the floor with an air of resolution: “‘I must win her, if I should lose my soul!’ Oh! beauty! beauty! the true and only enchanter on earth. Thou canst change the tiger into a tender lamb, or transform the lamb into a fierce tiger. What was I yesterday but a tiger? To-day subdued—tamed to the softness of a suckling. ’Sdeath! Had I but known that such a woman was watching—for she was there no doubt—I might have avoided that accursed encounter. ”

“ Furthermore, the stranger was a person of elegant appearance; perhaps not regularly handsome, but with that air of savoir faire, and bold bearing, sure to attract admiration. Plainly, but richly dressed; a splendid horseman, and riding a splendid horse withal; frank and affable, not as if condescending—for at this the instinct of the rustic revolts—but distinguished by that simple unselfish spirit, which characterises the true gentleman, how could Henry Holtspur fail to be popular?
Such was the cavalier, who had conquered the arm of Captain Scarthe, and the heart of Marion Wade. ”

“ That night no sleep for Marion Wade—not enough to give her a moment’s relief from the thoughts that tortured her. Her pillow was pressed, but with a pale and sleepless cheek; and often, during the night, had she risen from her couch, and paced the floor of her apartment, like one under the influence of a delirious dream.
The bosom that has been betrayed can alone understand the nature of her sufferings. Perhaps only a woman’s heart can fully appreciate the pain she was enduring? Hers had received into its inmost recesses—into the very citadel itself—the image of the heroic Holtspur. ”

“ If you care not for the happiness of one who would risk his life for yours, then do I adjure you, as you care for truth, to speak the truth! Dropped you this glove by accident, or design?”
With the silence of one who awaits to hear the pronouncing of his sentence, Henry Holtspur sat listening for her answer.
It came like an echo to his speech; but an echo that only repeated the final word.
“Design!” murmured Marion Wade, in a low soft voice, whose very trembling betokened its truth. ”

“ Under her cheering light Holtspur sauntered leisurely along, reviewing over and over again the immediate and pleasant past; which, notwithstanding the clouds that lowered over his future, had the effect of tingeing it with a roseate effulgence.
There were perils before, as well as behind him. His liberty, as his life, was still in danger. He knew all this; but in the revel of that fond retrospect—with the soft voice of Marion Wade yet ringing in his ears—her kisses still clinging to his lips—how could he be otherwise than oblivious of danger? ”