Meanwhile Lumley stood listening to her, watching her keenly, and assuring himself that in the coming struggle between two wills, the victory must go to the strong.
“I am pleading as much for your sake as mine,” she resumed, looking at him with wistful dignity, and not a little daunted by his continued silence.
“Think of your poor father, who is so proud of you; think of Frances, who is devoted to you—and to me. Think of my poor little Cara, that I would be deserting for ever.”
“It is too late to talk of these things now, Letty,” he answered inflexibly. “How can you suggest returning to a fellow that deserts you, and treats you brutally and cruelly; a man that you regard with shuddering repulsion?” He was resolved to hit hard.
“Oh, Lancelot, don’t!” wincing and turning away; “if you only knew. I’d go with you to the world’s end—I would—but for the child. Yes; in spite of your father’s grey hairs, and your sister’s confidence and affection; but there is something that I cannot explain, and that you would not understand; it is the mother in me, that is drawing me back—yes, and I am going.”
“No!” said Lumley suddenly, walking across the room, and placing his back against the door. “You don’t leave London to-night—talk of madness—that would be madness indeed!”
His face looked stern and very pale; he had braced himself as for a life and death struggle.
“Yes, I will prevent you, and by all means in my power, short of force. I know what is best for you; I am not thinking of myself,—but of you, now. You know I love you too well, Letty, to do anything that would harm you—but to allow you to escape to that life of misery, would be a crime. A crime, against your youth and your happiness; you talk of Cara, what is she but a baby of three, and you are one-and-twenty? Why is she to devour the whole of your future? She is pretty, she is a rich man’s daughter, as far as I could judge, has a strong will; the world will go well with her. Suppose you sacrifice yourself, will she give up her best years to you, and are you to have no life of your own? As it is, you are like some beautiful flower that has been kept in a dark room till its colour has been bleached, and its vitality is perishing. If this existence continues, what will you be in twenty years?”
“Dead, I hope,” she answered sharply, then with a flash of unexpected passion, “but dead or alive, I am going to stick to Cara.”
“No you are not,” he rejoined with gathering excitement. “You are going to stick to me, and till death us do part.” Visibly shaken by the force of his own speech, he added hoarsely: “Letty, you have escaped from bondage, be thankful for your freedom!”