“Oh, of course not; but, you see, people very often get love after they are married:—­and I am sure I would do all to make you love me.  I know I can’t bribe you by promising you carriages and jewels, and all that:—­but you should have what you would like—­pictures and statues, and books—­and all that I can buy—­Oh, madam, I know I am not worthy of you—­I never have had any education as you have!”—­

Marie smiled a sad smile.

“But I would learn—­I know I could—­for I am no fool, though I say it:  I like all that sort of thing, and—­and if I had you to teach me, I should care about nothing else.  I have given up all my nonsense since I knew you; indeed I have—­I am trying all day long to read—­ever since you said something about being useful, and noble, and doing one’s work:—­I have never forgotten that, madam, and never shall; and you would find me a pleasant person to live with, I do believe.  At all events, I would—­oh, madam—­I would be your servant, your dog—­I would fetch and carry for you like a negro slave!”

Marie turned pale, and rose.

“Listen to me, my lord; this must end.  You do not know to whom you are speaking.  You talk of negro slaves.  Know that you are talking to one!”

Scoutbush looked at her in blank astonishment.

“Madam?  Excuse me:  but my own eyes—­”

“You are not to trust them; I tell you fact.”

Scoutbush was silent.  She misunderstood his silence:  but went on steadily.

“I tell you, my lord, what I expect you to keep secret:  and I know that I can trust your honour.”

Scoutbush bowed.

“And what I should never have told you, were it not my only chance of curing you of this foolish passion.  I am an American slave!”

“Curse them!  Who dared make you a slave?” cried Scoutbush, turning as red as a game-cock.

“I was born a slave.  My father was a white gentleman of good family:  my mother was a quadroon; and therefore I am a slave;—­a negress, a runaway slave, my lord, who, if I returned to America, should be seized, and chained, and scourged, and sold.—­Do you understand me?”

“What an infernal shame!” cried Scoutbush, to whom the whole thing appeared simply as a wrong done to Marie.

“Well, my lord?”

“Well, madam?”

“Does not this fact put the question at rest for ever?”

“No, madam!  What do I know about slaves?  No one is a slave in England.  No madam; all that it does is to make me long to cut half-a-dozen fellows’ throats—­” and Scoutbush stamped with rage.  “No, madam, you are you:  and if you become my viscountess, you take my rank, I trust, and my name is yours, and my family yours; and let me see who dare interfere!”

“But public opinion, my lord?” said Marie, half-pleased, half-terrified to find the shaft which she had fancied fatal fall harmless at her feet.