* *
Lucy's tears relieved her a little. They exhausted her, and so made her agony more easy to bear. It was necessary now to think of the future. Alec MacKenzie must be there soon. She wondered why he had written, and what he could have to say that mattered. She could only think of her father, and above all of George. She dried her eyes, and with a deep sigh set herself methodically to consider the difficult problem.
* * *
When Alec came she rose gravely to receive him. For a moment he was overcome by her loveliness, and he gazed at her in silence. Lucy was a woman who was at her best in the tragic situations of life; her beauty was heightened by the travail of her soul, and the heaviness of her eyes gave a pathetic grandeur to her wan face. She advanced to meet sorrow with an unquailing glance, and Alec, who knew something of heroism, recognised the greatness of her heart. Of late he had been more than once to see that portrait of _Diana of the Uplands_, in which he, too, found the gracious healthiness of Lucy Allerton; but now she seemed like some sad queen, English to the very bones, who bore with a royal dignity an intolerable grief, and yet by the magnificence of her spirit turned into something wholly beautiful.
'You must forgive me for forcing myself upon you to-day,' he said slowly. 'But my time is very short, and I wanted to speak to you at once.'
'It is very good of you to come.' She was embarrassed, and did not know what exactly to say. 'I am always very glad to see you.'
He looked at her steadily, as though he were turning over in his mind her commonplace words. She smiled.
'I wanted to thank you for your great kindness to me during these two or three weeks. You've been very good to me, and you've helped me to bear all that--I've had to bear.'
'I would do far more for you than that,' he answered. Suddenly it flashed through her mind why he had come. Her heart gave a great beat against her chest. The thought had never entered her head. She sat down and waited for him to speak. He did not move. There was a singular immobility about him when something absorbed his mind.
'I wrote and asked if I might see you alone, because I had something that I wanted to say to you. I've wanted to say it ever since we were at Court Leys together, but I was going away--heaven only knows when I shall come back, and perhaps something may happen to me--and I thought it was unfair to you to speak.'
He paused. His eyes were fixed upon hers. She waited for him to go on.
'I wanted to ask you if you would marry me.'
She drew a long breath. Her face kept its expression of intense gravity.
'It's very kind and chivalrous of you to suggest it. You mustn't think me ungrateful if I tell you I can't.'
'Why not?' he asked quietly.
'I must look after my father. If it is any use I shall go and live near the prison.'
'There is no reason why you should not do that if you married me.'
She shook her head.
'No, I must be free. As soon as my father is released I must be ready to live with him. And I can't take an honest man's name. It looks as if I were running away from my own and taking shelter elsewhere.'
She hesitated for a while, since it made her very shy to say what she had in mind. When she spoke it was in a low and trembling voice.
'You don't know how proud I was of my name and my family. For centuries they've been honest, decent people, and I felt that we'd had a part in the making of England. And now I feel utterly ashamed. Dick Lomas laughed at me because I was so proud of my family. I daresay I was stupid. I never paid much attention to rank and that kind of thing, but it did seem to me that family was different. I've seen my father, and he simply doesn't realise for a moment that he's done something horribly mean and shameful. There must be some taint in our nature. I couldn't marry you; I should be afraid that my children would inherit the rottenness of my blood.'
He listened to what she said. Then he went up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. His calmness, and the steadiness of his voice seemed to quieten her.
'I think you will be able to help your father and George better if you are my wife. I'm afraid your position will be very difficult. Won't you give me the great happiness of helping you?'
'We must stand on our own feet. I'm very grateful, but you can do nothing for us.'
'I'm very awkward and stupid, I don't know how to say what I want to. I think I loved you from that first day at Court Leys. I did not understand then what had happened; I suddenly felt that something new and strange had come into my life. And day by day I loved you more, and then it took up my whole soul. I've never loved anyone but you. I never can love anyone but you. I've been looking for you all my life.'
She could not stand the look of his eyes, and she cast hers down. He saw the exquisite shadow of her eyelashes on her cheek.
'But I didn't dare say anything to you then. Even if you had cared for me, it seemed unfair to bind you to me when I was starting on this expedition. But now I must speak. I go in a week. It would give me so much strength and courage if I knew that I had your love. I love you with all my heart.'
She looked up at him now, and her eyes were shining with tears, but they were not the tears of a hopeless pain.
'I can't marry you now. It would be unfair to you. I owe myself entirely to my father.'
He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back.
'It must be as you will.'
'But don't think I'm ungrateful,' she said. 'I'm so proud that I have your love. It seems to lift me up from the depths. You don't know how much good you have done me.'
'I wanted to help you, and you will let me do nothing for you.'
On a sudden a thought flashed through her. She gave a little cry of amazement, for here was the solution of her greatest difficulty.
'Yes, you can do something for me. Will you take George with you?'
'George?'
He remained silent for a moment, while he considered the proposition.
'I can trust him in your hands. You will make a good and a strong man of him. Oh, won't you give him this chance of washing out the stain that is on our name?'
'Do you know that he will have to undergo hunger and thirst and every kind of hardship? It's not a picnic that I'm going on.'
'I'm willing that he should undergo everything. The cause is splendid. His self-respect is wavering in the balance. If he gets to noble work he will feel himself a man.'
'There will be a good deal of fighting. It has seemed foolish to dwell on the dangers that await me, but I do realise that they are greater than I have ever faced before. This time it is win or die.'
'The dangers can be no greater than those his ancestors have taken cheerfully.'
'He may be wounded or killed.'
Lucy hesitated for an instant. The words she uttered came from unmoving lips.
'If he dies a brave man's death I can ask for nothing more.'
Alec smiled at her infinite courage. He was immensely proud of her.
'Then tell him that I shall be glad to take him.'
'May I call him now?'
Alec nodded. She rang the bell and told the servant who came that she wished to see her brother. George came in. The strain of the last fortnight, the horrible shock of his father's conviction, had told on him far more than on Lucy. He looked worn and ill. He was broken down with