If Sinners Entice Thee Part 16

"Liane," he said, bending and looking straight into her large, clear eyes, "I have wanted to speak seriously to you during these past few weeks, but have always hesitated."

"Why, father?"

"Because--well, I knew you were happy, and did not wish to cause you pain," he answered.

"Pain? What do you mean?" she inquired quickly.

"You have been very happy here in Nice, haven't you? I mean that Zertho has made life very pleasant for us both," he stammered.

"Certainly. Thanks to him, we've been extremely gay the whole time. So different to our last experience of the Riviera," and she laughed lightly at the recollection of those well-remembered evil days.

"You appear to find Zertho a very congenial companion," he observed.

She started. Surely her father could not know what had taken place between them during that walk by the moonlit sea on the previous night?

"Of course," she answered hesitatingly. "He was always a good friend to poor Nelly and myself, and he is very amusing."

"But I have noticed of late that your face betrays your happiness when you walk with him. A woman always shows in her cheeks a distinct consciousness of her success."

Her face flushed slightly as she answered,--

"I was not aware that I appeared any happier when in his society than on any other occasion."

"It is upon that very point that I desire to speak to you," he went on in a low serious tone. "You will remember that before we left Stratfield Mortimer, I gave you a few words of kindly advice regarding an impossible lover with whom you had foolishly become infatuated."

"Yes," she said, "I well remember."

"Then it is upon the subject of your marriage that I want again to say a few words to you."

"Marriage!" she laughed. "Why, I shall not marry for years yet, dear old dad. Besides, if I left you, whatever would you do?"

"Ah, yes, my girl," he answered hoa.r.s.ely, as a shadow of pain flitted for an instant across his darkened brow. "You must not lose the chance of youth."

She closed her book, placed it aside slowly, and regarded him with surprise.

"Haven't you always urged me to wait?" she asked half-reproachfully, toying with the two little gipsy rings upon her slim finger. "I understood that you were entirely against my marriage."

"So I was when you did not possess the chance of making a wealthy and satisfactory alliance," he replied.

His daughter looked at him inquiringly, but hazarded no remark. She saw by the expression of his face how terribly in earnest he was.

"You, of course, know to whom I refer," he added, speaking in a low, intense tone, as he bent towards her, gazing still seriously into the sweet, open countenance.

"To Zertho," she observed mechanically.

"Yes. If you reflect, as I have already reflected times without number during these past few weeks, Liane, you must recognise that your position as the daughter of an almost penniless adventurer, is by no means an enviable one. If anything happened to me you would be left without a friend, and without a penny. Such thoughts are, I admit, not exactly pleasant ones, nevertheless the truth must be faced, at this, the most important crisis of your life. Again, I have nothing to give you, and can hope for nothing. In the days bygone I managed to pick up sufficient to provide us with the comforts and luxuries of life, but now, alas! luck and friends have alike deserted me, and I am left ruined. I--"

"But you are not friendless, dear old dad," Liane cried suddenly, the light of affection glowing in her beautiful eyes as, with a sudden movement, she sprang across to him, and kneeling beside his chair as she often did, put both her soft, clinging arms about his neck. "I am your friend, as I have always been. I do not want to marry and leave you,"

and she burst into tears.

His voice became choked by a sob he vainly strove to keep back. He felt his resolution giving way, and bit his lip.

"If--if you would remain my friend, Liane, you will marry," he managed to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e at last, although the words seemed to stifle him, and he hated himself for having uttered them.

"No, dad--I will never allow you to live alone."

"But you must, dearest," he answered with emphasis, fondly pus.h.i.+ng back her dark hair from her brow. "Think what a chance you now have of securing position, wealth and everything which contributes to life's happiness. Zertho loves you."

"I know," she answered, with a touch of ineffable sadness in her voice and raising her tear-stained face to his. "But I am happy as I am, with you."

"True. Yet in a few months the money we have will become exhausted, and whence we shall obtain more I know not," he said with a look of despair.

"You have a chance to become a princess--the wife of a man even wealthier than his sovereign--therefore you should seriously reflect, Liane, ere you refuse."

"How did you know that Zertho loves me?" she suddenly inquired, turning her frank face upward to his.

"Because he has told me," he answered, in a voice low almost as a whisper. "He asked my permission to speak to you and offer you marriage."

As he looked at her the thought flashed across his mind that he, her father, who loved her so dearly, was deceiving her. What would she say if she knew the truth?

"Yes," she exclaimed with a sigh, "he says that he loves me, and has asked me to become his wife. But I have refused."

"Why?"

"Because I do not, I cannot love him, dad. Surely you would never wish me to marry a man for whom I have no affection, and in whom I have no trust." Her father held his breath and evaded her gaze. Her argument was una.s.sailable. The words stabbed his tortured conscience.

"But would not the fact of your becoming Princess d'Auzac place you in a position of independence such as thousands of women would envy?" he hazarded, again stroking her silky hair with tenderness. "You know Zertho well. He's a good fellow and would make you an excellent husband, no doubt."

"I can never marry him," she answered, decisively.

"You will refuse his offer?" he observed, hoa.r.s.ely. Her firmness was causing him some anxiety.

"I have already refused," she replied.

Slowly he grasped her hand, and after a brief pause looked her steadily in the face, saying--

"Liane, you must become his wife."

"I love but one man, dad, and cannot love another," she sobbed pa.s.sionately, her arms still about his neck.

"Forget him."

She remained silent a few moments; then, at last looking up with calm, inquiring gaze, asked--

"Why are you so earnestly persuading me to marry this man who is neither your true friend nor mine, dad? What object can you have in urging me to do what can only bring me grief and dire unhappiness?"

He made no reply. His face, she noticed, had grown hard and cold; he was entirely unlike himself.

"I love George," she went on. "I will only marry him."