She did not reply, but slowly raising her eyes to his, gazed long and steadily into his face.
What she saw was a man approaching middle age, with lined face and saddened eyes, and not the Martinworth whom she had known.
She had left behind her a man with dark hair, frank and laughing blue eyes, and a mobile and expressive mouth. He whom she saw before her now had hair thickly sprinkled with grey, his eyes, blue as in days of yore, laughed no longer, but gleamed mournfully and somewhat wildly from beneath the finely marked eyebrows, while the beauty of the well shaped mouth was marred by certain hard and scornful lines that surrounded the slightly parted lips. His very figure seemed altered. He was a tall man, and had formerly been remarkable for his erect carriage. Now there was a stoop in the shoulders, and in spite of the well-cut frock coat, his stature seemed to Pearl to have decreased.
All these outward examples of change, these slight signs of degeneration, struck Pearl with a sudden chill. She let her eyes rest on the man before her, feeling as if she were in the presence of a stranger.
"Why do you not speak to me?" he asked at last. "Have you no word of welcome for me, Pearl?"
"I do not seem to know you," answered Pearl sadly, as she withdrew her hands from his. "You are changed, very changed. You are not the Dick Martinworth I remember."
"You find me changed? Doubtless I am. Well! I will credit you with believing that it does not give you much pleasure to look at a wretched, a broken-hearted man. To gaze at your own handiwork," he answered bitterly.
"My handiwork?" faltered Pearl.
"Yes, your handiwork. Listen, Pearl! God knows I did not come here with the intention of reproaching you, but nevertheless I must tell you a little of the harm that you have done. The man who loved his occupations and enjoyed all that life had to give him, now has taste for none of these things, but on the contrary is possessed,--poor soul,--with the demon of perpetual unrest. The man who had a certain faith in purity and truth, and was not otherwise than happy in that faith, now doubts whether such things really exist. And yet, Pearl, I did believe in goodness and in truth, for I believed in you. You left me, after years of waiting and of longing, left me at the moment I thought my dearest hopes were to be realised. You threw me a letter and left me,--and in so doing you have ruined my life. Yes, you have ruined my future and my life."
As Martinworth was speaking, his eyes grew larger and wilder, and Pearl shrank back further behind the chair.