“If you had not seen me,” he muttered, fixing his eyes on the carpet, “it would have done no harm.”
My heart felt ready to burst; but I resolutely swallowed back my emotion, and answered calmly,
“You think not?”
“No,” replied he, boldly. “After all, what have I done? It’s nothing—except as you choose to make it a subject of accusation and distress.”
“What would Lord Lowborough, your friend, think, if he knew all? or what would you yourself think, if he or any other had acted the same part to me, throughout, as you have to Annabella?”
“I would blow his brains out.”
“Well, then, Arthur, how can you call it nothing—an offence for which you would think yourself justified in blowing another man’s brains out? Is it nothing to trifle with your friend’s feelings and mine—to endeavour to steal a woman’s affections from her husband—what he values more than his gold, and therefore what it is more dishonest to take? Are the marriage vows a jest; and is it nothing to make it your sport to break them, and to tempt another to do the same? Can I love a man that does such things, and coolly maintains it is nothing?”
“You are breaking your marriage vows yourself,” said he, indignantly rising and pacing to and fro. “You promised to honour and obey me, and now you attempt to hector over me, and threaten and accuse me, and call me worse than a highwayman. If it were not for your situation, Helen, I would not submit to it so tamely. I won’t be dictated to by a woman, though she be my wife.”
“What will you do then? Will you go on till I hate you, and then accuse me of breaking my vows?”
He was silent a moment, and then replied: “You never will hate me.” Returning and resuming his former position at my feet, he repeated more vehemently—“You cannot hate me as long as I love you.”