‘If you are not a monster of the blackest dye,’ exclaimed Inez at length, ‘you will not delight in thus harrowing my feelings! but tell me have you spoken the truth? Do not keep me in suspense! Oh, do not! Have you indeed said that which is true?’
‘I have,’ answered Blodget;—‘Monteagle is now in my power.’
‘Are you bent to drive me mad?’ exclaimed the frenzied Inez, as, with clasped hands, she gazed vehemently and supplicatingly in the countenance of her oppressor.
‘No, no! I would restore you to happiness,’ replied Blodget.
‘Happiness!’ groaned Inez; ‘oh, cruel mockery to talk to me thus; and to continue to keep me in this state of agony and suspense.’
‘Compose yourself,’ again remonstrated Blodget, in a gentler tone, than he had before spoken, and at the same time venturing to approach her closer; ‘compose yourself. Consent to my wishes, and Monteagle shall at once be free.—Refuse he dies!’
‘Never, miscreant!’ cried Inez, and fell powerless to the floor.
Blodget was alarmed,—so still and marble-like did the fair girl lie. No motion of her white bosom gave the slightest evidence that she breathed.
The villain trembled, and for an instant remorse touched his heart. But no sooner did a slight convulsive shudder show that she still lived, than he turned and left the apartment.
Blodget sent the old woman to Inez, who succeeded in restoring her to consciousness.