At Love's Cost

His brow contracted in a frown, he set his teeth hard. If he were to

lie, 'twere better that he lied thoroughly and well; better that his

sacrifice should be complete and effectual. Scarcely knowing what he

said, what he did, with the fumes of the champagne confusing his brain,

the misery of his lost love racking his heart, he said, hoarsely: "I did not know--till to-night. You can trust me. I ask you to be my

wife--I will be true to you--it is with all my heart!"

If Jove laughs at lovers' perjuries, the angels must weep at such false

oaths as this. Even as he spoke the words, Stafford remembered the "I

love you?" he had cried to Ida as he knelt at her feet, and he

shuddered as Maude drew his head down and his lips met hers.

* * * * * Half an hour later they went slowly up the steps again. Stafford's head

was still burning, he still felt confused, like a man moving in a

dream. Since he had kissed her he had said very little; and the

silences had been broken more often by Maude than by him. She had told

him in a low voice, tremulous with love, and hesitating now and again,

how she had fallen in love with him the day he had rowed her on the

lake; how she had struggled and striven against the feeling, and how it

had conquered her. How miserable she had been, though she had tried to

hide her misery, lest he should never come to care for her, and she

should have to suffer that most merciless of all miseries--unrequited

love. She seemed as if she scarcely wanted him to speak, as if she took

it for granted that he had spoken the truth, and that he loved her; and

as if it were a joy to her to bare her heart, that he might see how

devotedly it throbbed for him and for him alone. Every now and then

Stafford spoke a few words in response. He scarcely knew what he said,

he could not have told what they were ten minutes after they were said;

he sat with his arm round her like a man playing a part mechanically.

In the same condition he moved beside her now as arm and arm they

entered the house, he looking straight before him with a set face, a

forced smile, she with now raised, now drooping eyes glowing with

triumph, a flush on her usually pale face, her lips apart and

tremulous. The ball was breaking up, some of the women had already gone

to the drawing-room or their own apartments; a stream of men were

making their way to the billiard-room from which came the popping of

champagne-corks and the hissing of syphons.