"You will be careful that your name never reaches my ear," he went on, regardless of her appeal. "Hide yourself in some strange land, where no tidings of you may ever come near my home. I warn you, for your own sake."
"Give me your forgiveness in my dying hour; only that, Grantley, for I have loved you so!"
"I will not promise it. This mockery is worse than your sin!" he exclaimed. "If it were to keep your soul from eternal torture, I could not speak a pardoning word."
She fell forward upon the ground.
"Only for my death-bed—your pardon for my death-bed?"
"Never! Never!"
His voice rang out clear and sharp, as steel striking steel. It was like the sound of prison doors shutting out the last gleam of light and hope from a condemned criminal.
"Don't be found here," he said; "nor be heard of again. We are parting now forever. Take the shelter of my roof for the rest of this miserable night. I will not send you forth in darkness—go, but we meet no more!"
He turned and walked away; she watched him threading his path among the graves, and it seemed as if she must die when her eyes lost him.
He had reached the palings, he was passing through. She raised herself, her last expiring energy went out in one agonized appeal: