“If it be ill to hear me speak of it—and I am calm enough to speak without temper and say this not to anger but to prevail with you—if it be ill for you to hear me speak of it, what would it be in the after time to live ever with the knowledge of it? Think you that happiness lies that way? You with the knowledge that my heart is given to another man; I with the bitterness of remorse for the wrong you would have me do, relieved only by the ever aching sorrow of a broken heart?”
“I wish to hear no more.”
“Nay, but you must hear me. Only a coward would shut his ears to the truth; and you at least are no coward. You have not thought what kind of thing this really is that you would do. Were I to wed you as you now wish, we should grow to hate one another. Your passion would cool and you would come to feel the bitterness of the mistake, the galling yoke of the load on your life and would look on me as the cause.”
“You little know me, Gabrielle.”
“Then at least I know myself. I am but a girl and very human; and in the long dark hours of my misery and unavailing remorse, my spirit, unbroken—for we Malincourts are not easily broken—would revolt against you as the cause. Would yours be happier? Have you thought what life would be to be mated with a woman who hated you, as we Malincourts can hate?”
“I love you. I think of naught else,” he said doggedly.
“Love! Love! What sort of love is that which would blight and destroy the object that has kindled it? What is it in me you think you love? My face? My form? Would these retain their comeliness in your eyes when you knew that beneath them burnt the fire of hate? When I could never suffer you, without a shudder, even to look into my eyes? When at your approach you found me shrink; when your lightest touch would seem to be repugnant? Oh, put this cowardice away from you, and understand the truth as it is. If there be this feeling for me that you deem, have courage to see that it is wrong and evil. If it were love it would be selfless, and you would seek my happiness, not your own mere desires. The flame will burn out and die down; and if you will but act as a man should act, you will grow to hate the thing you now desire, and thank me for having kept you true to a man’s better part.”
“Do you mean you would have me see you marry this man? I would see you dead sooner. And he shall die,” he cried fiercely. “My mind is made up. If you will not save him, his blood will be on your head.”
Gabrielle had not hoped to move him, and his decision stirred no surprise. She had pleaded urgently and sweetly; but with another thought than that of prevailing with him. She had to disarm his suspicion so that time might be gained, and now began to let her alarm make itself evident.
“He must not die; he must not,” she said, after a pause.