"But let your father save you. Only tell him that you will stay with him, and he will do it. Though I should never see you again, I could hope to protect you. Of course, I know,—and you know. He is—a scoundrel!"
"I will not hear it," said she, rising from her seat on the sofa with her hands up to her forehead, but still coming nearer to him as she moved.
"Does not your father say the same thing? I will advise nothing that he does not advise. I would not say a word to you that he might not hear. I do love you. I have always loved you. But do you think that I would hurt you with my love?"
"No;—no;—no!"
"No, indeed;—but I would have you feel that those who loved you of old are still anxious for your welfare. You said just now that you had been neglected."
"I spoke of papa and Everett. For myself,—of course I have separated myself from everybody."
"Never from me. You may be ten times his wife, but you cannot separate yourself from me. Getting up in the morning and going to bed at night I still tell myself that you are the one woman that I love. Stay with us, and you shall be honoured,—as that man's wife of course, but still as the dearest friend we have."
"I cannot stay," she said. "He has told me that I am to go, and I am in his hands. When you have a wife, Arthur, you will wish her to do your bidding. I hope she will do it for your sake, without the pain I have in doing his. Good-bye, dear friend."
She put her hand out and he grasped it, and stood for a moment looking at her. Then he seized her in his arms and kissed her brow and her lips. "Oh, Emily, why were you not my wife? My darling, my darling!"
She had hardly extricated herself when the door opened, and Lopez stood in the room. "Mr. Fletcher," he said, very calmly, "what is the meaning of this?"