Lord Upperton was prolonging his stay in America. He visited New York and Philadelphia, and was once more in Boston. He called upon Thomas Hutchinson, governor; upon Thomas Flucker, secretary; and upon the officials of the Custom House. He accepted many invitations to dinner from gentlemen and ladies, and took excursions into the country on horseback. Lady Frankland hospitably entertained him in her country house, where he enjoyed himself shooting squirrels and partridges. Returning to Boston, he frequently called to pay his respects to Mr. and Mrs. Newville, never failing to ask for Miss Newville, prolonging his calls till past the ringing of the nine o’clock bell. He was very courteous, and had many entertaining stories to tell of life in England, of his ancestral home at Halford. The old castle was gray with age; the ivy, ever green upon its towers, hanging in graceful festoons from the battlements. Herds of deer roamed the surrounding park; pheasants crooned and cackled beneath the stalwart oaks; hares burrowed in the forest; nightingales made the midnight melodious with their dulcet singing. Old tapestries adorned the walls of the spacious apartments. In the banqueting halls were the portraits of ancestors—lords, dukes, and earls reaching down to the first Earl Upperton created by William of Normandy, for valor on the field of Hastings. On the maternal side were portraits of beautiful ladies who had been maids of honor and train-bearers at the coronations of Margaret and Elizabeth. The brain of Ruth could not keep track of all the branches of the ancestral tree; she could only conclude it was stalwart and strong.

Lord Upperton was heartily welcomed by Mrs. Newville, who esteemed it one of heaven’s blessings to be thus honored. On an evening, after a visit from his lordship, Mrs. Newville, with radiant face, drew Ruth to her bosom. “My dear,” she said, “I have joyful information for you. Lord Upperton has done us the distinguished honor to say to your father and me that he has become so much interested in our daughter that he presumes to ask the privilege of paying his addresses to her. It is not, Ruth, altogether a surprise to me, for I have seen his growing fondness for you.”

“Fondness for me, mother?”

“Yes, dear; he has not been able to keep his eyes off you of late. I have noticed that if you had occasion to leave the room, he fidgeted till you returned. We have given our consent, and he will call to-morrow evening to make a formal proposal to you.”

“But I do not desire he should make a proposal to me, mother!”

“Don’t want him to make an offer of marriage, child! Why, Ruth, what are you thinking of? Not wish to receive the attentions of a noble lord! I am astonished. Do you forget that he can trace his lineage down to the time of William the Conqueror, and I don’t know how much farther? You surprise me!”

“I doubt not Lord Upperton may have a noble ancestry, but I don’t see how that concerns me. I am not going to marry his ancestors, am I?”

“Why, daughter, he has a crest,—an escutcheon of azure, sable, and sanguine, a lion rampant, a unicorn passant, and an eagle volent.”

“What would a crest do for me?”

The question puzzled Mrs. Newville. “I really do not know, daughter, just what it would do, but it would be painted on your coach; it would be embroidered on the banners hanging in Lord Upperton’s baronial hall. Just think of it! The lion, the emblem of strength, the unicorn of energy, the eagle of swiftness and far-sightedness,—it would represent all those qualities!”

“But what if one has not the qualities?”

“I am not so sure, daughter, but that you have those very characteristics in a remarkable degree. I know you have strength of will and energy. What you undertake you carry through; and you are far-sighted, you see what others of your age do not see. I do not say it to flatter you, daughter, but I am sure Lord Upperton’s coat-of-arms is emblematic of the character of the lady whom he wishes to see mistress of Halford Castle,” said Mrs. Newville, with radiant face.

It seemed to her that the fond hope of years was about to be realized; that the time was at hand when the Newville family was to be ennobled; when she, herself, could bid farewell to America, and be admitted to the charmed society of dukes, barons, princes, kings, and queens.

“Lord Upperton will call to-morrow evening, dear, and I will have Madame Riggoletti come in the afternoon to do your hair. You had better wear your corn-colored satin brocade, which is so becoming to you.”

“No, mother, I do not wish to wear it. I prefer to dress plainly. I want Lord Upperton to see me just as I am, a simple girl, who has had few advantages to fit her for the life in which he moves. I cannot appear to be what I am not.”

Ruth paused a moment as if considering whether she should speak the words upon her lips.

“Lord Upperton, you say, desires to pay his addresses to me and you have given consent. It is an honor for any lady to receive attentions from a gentleman of superior station, but I cannot promise you, mother, that I shall look with favor upon his suit, honorable though it may be.”

It was said calmly but with resolution.

“I dare say, daughter, you may think so now. It is quite natural. It is just what I said when my mother informed me that Theodore, your father, had asked permission to pay his addresses to me. I said I would not see him; but I did, and have been very glad ever since. After a little while, I used to listen for his footsteps. There were none like his. He always called Thursday evening after the lecture,[49] and I used to sit by the window an hour before it was time for him to put in an appearance, looking for him. So it will be with you, child. Now go to bed, dear, and think of the great honor which Lord Upperton is conferring upon us in asking for your hand!”

“Shall I give him my hand, if I cannot at the same time give him my heart?” Ruth asked, her earnest eyes scanning her mother’s face.

“Oh, but you will do both, dear. Many a girl has asked the same question at first, but soon found that the heart and hand went together.”

“I think,” Ruth replied, “if one may judge from outward appearances, there are some women who have given their hands to their husbands, but never their hearts. I see faces, now and then, which make me think of what I have read descriptive of deserts where there is no water to quench the thirst, no oasis with its green palms giving grateful shade from the summer heat,—faces that tell of hunger and thirst for the bread and water of love and sympathy.”

“You fancy it is so, and possibly here and there you may find a mismated couple, but, daughter, you will see things in a different light when once you get acquainted with Lord Upperton. I believe there is not another girl in Boston who would not jump at such a catch. You may not fancy him this moment, but in a short time you will say there is not another like him in all the world. You feel just as I did towards Theodore. At first, I almost hated him, because he presumed to ask permission to visit me, but now he is the best man that ever lived. Just think of the offer that has come to you in contrast with what your father had to offer me. Lord Upperton brings you his high station in life, his nobility, his long line of ancestors, a barony, a castle with its ivied walls, a retinue of servants, his armorial bearings inscribed on banners borne by Crusaders. He will offer you rank, wealth, privilege, honor at his majesty’s court. Theodore had only himself to offer me. He was not much then, but he is more now. I have done what I could to make him what he is, and now our daughter has the prospect of wearing laces such as are worn by duchesses; to be received at court; to be spoken of as Her Grace. Now to bed, dear, and be happy in thinking it over.”

“But I do not love Lord Upperton, nor shall I ever care for him.”

“Don’t talk in that way, Ruth. You think so now, but when you are once married and begin to enjoy what will be yours,—a coach, waiting-maids to do your bidding, and are invited to the court of his majesty the king, and preside over your own table in the great baronial hall, with the high-born gentlemen and ladies doing you honor, it stands to reason that you will love him who brings these things to you.”

“You speak, mother, of the society in which I shall move, but I have no taste for such associations.”

“Tush, child; you know nothing about it.”

“Lord Upperton has given me a description of the employment and pleasures of the society in which he moves, and I have no desire to enter it. I shall not find happiness in its circles. I want to be just what I am, your daughter, in our happy home.”

“But, Ruth, you cannot always be with us. Your father and I earnestly desire your future welfare and happiness. I am sure he will be surprised and pained to hear that you do not wish to receive the attentions of Lord Upperton.”

Mr. Newville entered the room. He saw the trouble on the face of his daughter.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Ruth thinks she never can love Lord Upperton and does not desire to receive his attentions, but I have told her it is only a present whim, just as mine was towards you.”

“Of course, daughter,” said Mr. Newville, with fatherly dignity, “it could hardly be expected you would feel any very strong attachment for Lord Upperton on so short an acquaintance. Conjugal love is a plant of slow growth, but I think you would, ere long, appreciate the great honors and the high privileges which he would confer upon you, and that your heart would go out to him.”

The troubled look upon the face of the daughter became more intense. Her father as well as her mother would have her receive the attentions of a man between whom and herself there was no possible sympathy. What should she say? A tear trickled down her cheek: she made no movement to wipe it away, but lifted her loving eyes and gazed steadily into her father’s.

“Since you both so earnestly desire it I will meet Lord Upperton to-morrow evening and hear what he has to say,” she replied.

“You could hardly do otherwise. I think the more you see of him the better you will like him,” said Mr. Newville.

“Of course you will, my child; and now, dear, think it over in your chamber. I am sure you will see that a great opportunity has come to you,” said Mrs. Newville, giving her a kiss.

It was a summer night. The air was fragrant with the perfume of lilacs and apple-blooms. The young moon was going down in the west, throwing its departing beams upon the unfinished tower of King’s Chapel. Ruth, looking out from her white-curtained window, beheld a handful of cloud drift across the crescent orb and dissolve in thin air. She could hear the footsteps of passers along the street growing fainter as they receded. The bell on the Old Brick Meetinghouse struck the hour, and then, in the distance, she heard the watchman’s voice, “Ten o’clock, and all is well.” With perturbed spirit, she laid her head upon the white linen pillow which her own deft hands had made. So Lord Upperton was to solicit her heart and hand, and she had consented to meet him. What should she say to him? Why should he, having an acquaintance with the noble families of England, come across the sea and offer his attentions to an obscure New England girl, and desire to make her mistress at Halford Castle? Ought she not to feel flattered in having a noble lord for a lover? The thought did not stir her blood. Why was she averse to receiving his attentions? What was there about him that made the thought repellent? Was he not a gentleman? Was he not polite? Did he not show proper respect not only to herself but to everybody? Why not make an effort to overcome her repugnance to him? Would any other girl in Boston or anywhere else hesitate a moment over such an opportunity as had come to her to be called My Lady,—to be mistress of a ducal castle,—a position of power and influence among the lords and ladies of the kingdom? To have diamonds and pearls? To have precedence over others of lower station in social life? Questions came in troops before her; vain her attempts to answer them.

Again the deep tones of the bell rang upon the still night air, and once more she heard the watchman’s voice announce the hour. For a moment it interrupted her reverie, but again the questioning went on. Her father and mother not only had given their consent for Lord Upperton to make proposal, but they earnestly desired she should become his wife. She could understand the motives that animated them. She was her father’s idol, her mother’s joy—very dear to them. Were they not ever doing what they could for her? Would not her marriage to Lord Upperton contribute to their happiness? Might not her father, through Lord Upperton’s influence at court, attain a more exalted position? Would not her marriage fill her mother’s life with happiness? Would it be an exhibition of filial duty were she to disappoint them? And yet, what right had they to make a decision for her when her own life’s happiness was concerned? Was she not her own? Had she not a right to do as she pleased? Ought she to sacrifice herself to their selfish interests? She did not like to think it was wholly selfishness on their part, but rather an earnest desire to provide for her future welfare. Ought she not to abide their judgment as to what was best for her? Could she ever be happy with Lord Upperton? Could she find pleasure in fine dressing, card playing, and masquerading as he had described them? What would such a life be worth? Were position in society, pleasure, gratification of self, to be the end and aim of life? There seemed to be another somebody beside herself propounding the questions; as if an unseen visitor were standing by her bedside in the silent night. Was she awake or dreaming? She had heard the great lawyer, James Otis, put questions to a witness in a court where her father in his judicial robe sat as magistrate. It seemed as if she herself had been summoned to a tribunal, and one more searching than the great lawyer was putting questions which she must answer. Should she give her hand to Lord Upperton and keep back her heart? Ought she to allow prospective pleasure or position to influence her choice? Could she in any way barter her future welfare for the present life and for the larger life beyond? Was Lord Upperton of such lofty character that she could render him honor and respect, even if she could not give to him a loving heart?

In the half-dreaming hour another face looked down upon her—the face of him, who, in a time of agony, had been as an angel of God, rescuing her from the hands of ruffians. Oh, if it were he who solicited permission to pay his addresses, how would she lean her head upon his bosom and rest contentedly clasped forever by those strong and loving arms! Through the intervening months his face had been ever present. She lived again the hour of their first meeting, that of the afternoon tea-party, the launching of the Berinthia Brandon, the ride in the pung. She had received several letters from him, which were laid carefully away in her writing-desk. Many times had they been read and with increasing pleasure. He had not declared his undying love for her; the declaration was unwritten, but it was between the lines. He wanted to be more than he was, and she could help him. He wanted to do something for justice, truth, and liberty; to stand resolutely with those who were ready to make sacrifices for their fellow-men. What a sentence was this: “I want to be better than I am; I want to do something to make the world better than it is; and you are pointing the way.”

Ever as she read the words her eyes had filled with tears. She pointing the way! Those words in one end of the scale, and Halford Castle and everything connected with it in the other, and the writing tipped the beam.

The night was sultry; her pulses bounding; her brow hot with fever. She sat by the window to breathe the pure air. The stars were shining in their ethereal brightness; the dipper was wheeling around the polar star; the great white river, the milky way, was illumining the arch of heaven. She thought of Him who created the gleaming worlds. Beneath her window the fireflies were lighting their lamps, and living their little lives. She could hear the swallows crooning in their nests beneath the eaves.

“He made them; He cares for them; He will care for me,” she said to herself. The night air cooled her brow, a holy peace and calm came to her troubled heart. Kneeling, she repeated as her prayer the psalm which the rector had read on Sunday.

“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High
Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge, and my strength.
My God, in Him will I trust.”