“Even he forsakes me,” she murmured, in a stifled voice; and, sinking down beside the couch, she buried her face in her hands and wept violently, passionately, until the very strength of her emotion exhausted her, and she lay still, wondering in her infinite desolation what she had ever done that fate should be so hard upon her.
The answer came at last:
“You set up an idol and worshiped it; and in fleeing from temptation a worse chance has overtaken you. Pray, unhappy woman; it is your only hope. The whole world has forsaken you, even your own kin; and, above all, the woman whom you served yesterday by your silence, and whose blame you bore for your brother’s sake. You have no kindred, or friends; you stand alone; and, therefore, need to stand firm, with your head well raised; but how will you bear this terrible solitude for all your pride?”
There was no answer to this question, unless she heard it in the storm—voices that went moaning round the house. A sudden peal of thunder shook the roof; the rain came plashing down; and Gwendolyn, poor coward! hid her face again, and stopped her ears.
She did not, therefore, either see or hear any one approach, until a warm, strong hand touched hers diffidently; and she lifted her head to let these tender words thrill through and through her:
“My darling! love has become my master; and I cannot live without you, as I told you before, so I have come to claim you for my very own!”
CHAPTER IX.
ALL FOR LOVE.
Lady Gwendolyn was too much overcome at this sudden apparition. She could not speak for a moment; and, taking her silence for encouragement, Lawrence Dacre knelt down beside her, and lifted the hand he still held to his lips.
“I have done with resistance,” he said; his eyes full of gloomy passion. “Whether you take me, or leave me, Gwendolyn, I belong to you—and you only now. These last few days I have done nothing but fight and struggle, until all the flesh has worn off my bones,” he added, with a grim laugh; “and I’ll make an end of it somehow. Do you hear me, child?”