Margery Daw by Bertha M. Clay — Read

At midnight, while the clouds were driven across the moon by the wind, Stuart Crosbie sat in his chamber at Court Manor, his arms folded, his head bent dejectedly upon his breast. He was stunned by the strange events of the past day. He could never tell how he had borne himself through the long evening, though every incident was graven on his heart forever. He could not grasp the meaning of what had taken place. He met the earl at his club, having a little time to spare before the vessel sailed, and he accepted Lord Court's invitation with a vague feeling that he should escape the reproaches, mute and open, which otherwise he must hear in town. The earl had taken a sudden liking to the young man, and some rumor reaching his ears as to Stuart's proposed voyage to Australia, he begged the nephew of his old friend to honor him with a short visit before his departure. So Stuart had assented, hardly heeding whither he went, his mind occupied with the task before him to find his cousin Margery; and in the twilight, with the firelight revealing her loveliness, he had, with a shock that stunned him, come suddenly face to face with the girl he sought, the girl he loved.

It was so strange, so incomprehensible. A feeling of acute pain came to him. At the sight of Margery his love rose up again in all its vigor, full of bitterness and despair, however, for she was a wife. He sat on in the chill night hours, his brain full of disturbing thought. The mystery, the suddenness of the whole thing, seemed to stun him, to crush his very being. During the whole evening he had sat listening to his host's voice, and answering in monosyllables. Margery did not appear; of that he was only too distinctly conscious. The rest was a blank. And now he was alone, bewildered, tormented by pain, despair, love. His journey was ended before it had commenced, for he had found Sir Douglas Gerant's daughter, found the owner of Beecham Park. In the morning he must unfold his tale, and then -- go from her forever.