Not a shade of anger or reproach is there in his voice. Amazement and indulgent tenderness alone are to be traced.
And she? Frantic with apprehension, she knew not what to say. To warn him of danger would be but to drive him right into its jaws. What should she do? Ah! That was it. The old promise.
“Lilian, what has come between us, now? Only tell me, darling, and it will all be cleared away.”
It was terrible. Her brain reeled as, with wild, dilated eyes, she stood gazing at him. His presence was so unexpected—it had burst upon her like a thunderbolt. He had, as he said, travelled night and day to reach her side—and now she must bid him leave her for ever though it broke her heart, as it certainly would. They two must never look upon each other again in life. Then her brain grew cold and steady. She must not flinch, she must save him from this ruthless enemy at all and whatever cost to herself. To herself! Ah, but—and to him? The answer to this question flashed across her determination—the consciousness of how valueless would be the life she was about to save. Yet—O God! the recollection of those terrible, menacing words! She sank her head into her clasped hands and shuddered. Again, so softly, so tenderly, he repeated his question:
“Lilian; what has come between us? Tell me, darling!”
She threw back her head with a quick movement, as if quivering beneath the torture.
“My former promise, Arthur. You remember,” and averting her face, again she shuddered from head to foot. “He is not—dead—as I thought.”
“And then—?”
“I cannot break it. I thought him dead—but now—I cannot break it. God help me!—help us both!”
A devil took possession of Claverton’s heart, and the fixed, vengeful look in his face was awful to behold as he murmured to himself: “God help him. If he is not dead he soon will be—or I.” Then aloud: “Lilian, you vowed once that nothing ever should part us. You remember, darling.”