Whilst he spoke he halted opposite to her and looking down into her face he studied every line of it, watching for the first look of horror which would mar its perfect peace. He was conscious of a strange desire to see her afraid of him, to feel that at his words her innocence would rebel, that if after what he had said he attempted to touch her, she would shrink away in unexplainable horror.
Now that he was alone with her for the first time, and could study at leisure every line of her graceful form, the perfect shell which contained a perfect soul, the first poisoned fangs of remorse fastened themselves into his heart, and impatient of the monster's attack, he strove to smother it, and thus longed to see her less trustful, less innocent, even—God help him—less pure!
Already he was searching for justification for that great wrong which he was about to commit, nay which he did commit with every word of gentleness which he spoke to her, with every moment that he spent in her company. Therefore he tried to make his voice harsh and rough, he did not want the child's regard, her trust, her allegiance. He would have had her ambitious, sordid and grasping for in this he could satisfy her by and bye, when he had all the promised riches in his hands, and had made her Countess of Stowmaries. He would have had her look on him as a necessary means to her own ends, as a man who would at best be wholly indifferent to her, or if that could not be, then as a man whom she would hate.
But in spite of all he said, in spite of his harsh words, and strange imageries, the meaning of which she scarce understood, yet almost feared to guess, her face remained perfectly calm, and her eyes—still tender and compassionate—met his in absolute, childlike serenity.
"I am not afraid of entering that world, my lord," she said, "with you to guide me."
"What a brave snowdrop," he said, "nay, you foolish little daughter of the frosts, you'll want an angel to guard you and to stand 'twixt you and me. I begin to think that cold ice-maiden though you be, you must at some time of your brief terrestrial existence have offended the God who made you, since He has thought fit to punish you so severely by giving you for husband the most abandoned sinner that ever defiled His earth. Or was it in a former existence, dear heart, when you dwelt amidst the snows that you roused the ire of devils to such an extent that they swore to be revenged on you, once you were a woman and could understand and feel. 'Twas a cowardly revenge of a surety, for there were other men—less vile, less corrupt, less contemptible than he in whose hand you so trustfully place yours. God forgive me, but meseems that I do feel tempted to draw aside the veil of ignorance which lies before your blue eyes, and to show you pictures of evil and of wretchedness from which your calm soul would shrink in horror, and even your serene virginity would recoil in fear. See the abandoned wretch that I am! I would rouse terror in those eyes—which hitherto have been the blue and opaque windows through which a placid soul hath gazed upon the devilries of mankind—and gazing hath not seen. Dear heart, how will you bear it, this first contact with pollution, and with sin; my hand to guide you, my finger to be the one to point the hideous way?—Broad the priests call it, and an easy descent to Hell, lined with the grinning faces of monstrous ghouls, one of which is called drunkenness, the other licentiousness, whilst blasphemy is the constant companion of both—and right and left from the road itself stand those hideous booths where poverty and degradation shrink out of sight in the dark hours of the evening gloom, and where hovers—like a gigantic bat with black and loathsome wings outspread and claw-like feet that grip and tear—that cruel Titan, called Remorse. Little snowdrop, snow-white and so pure, how will you trust after that, the hand that would guide you still further on the way, the voice that in its agony of shame would yet murmur in your ears promises of a turning out of the hideous road, a turning which leads to happiness and peace?"
His voice broke in a sigh which was almost a sob. Gradually as he spoke he had drawn nearer to her, until his knee touched the ground, and his head was bowed in his hands. But had he looked at her face even now he would not on any line of it have seen the slightest sign of the fear which he wished to evoke, nor of the loathing which he would have conjured up, yet would dread to see.
Only her eyes as pure, as childlike as before, were veiled in the tears of infinite pity. There was silence for awhile in the little parlour, her hands had fallen away from the keys of the harpsichord. Only the old clock ticked solemnly on, marking the brief minutes wherein these two souls met each other in this their first communion. Then as she did not speak, his whole soul recoiled at thought of losing her and a great dread seized him, lest after all she had understood, and in understanding, turned away from him in fear.
And humbly, gently, not daring to look up, and murmuring scarce above a whisper, he said:
"Little snowdrop, would you trust me still?"