She put up her hand as if to still the heaving of her bosom.
“It is to be the truth between us,” he said. “I did not love you. I admired you; who could do less? I knew that you were good and sweet and pure; but”—his voice rang low—“but though I did not love you then, I love you now! Wait! Listen to me!”
He stood erect, his eyes flashing, his heart beating fast.
“If I ever doubted myself, I doubt no longer. I know, now that I am in danger of losing you, that I love you.”
Her eyes sought his; she seemed to be drawn toward him; she was yielding under the spell of his voice, his eyes, the magnetic power of his love. Then she called all her spirit and her pride to her aid, and faced him.
“It is not true,” she said—“it is not true!”
His hand fell upon the back of the chair beside him and gripped it, and his face went white again.
“Esmeralda,” he said, hoarsely, “you must believe me! I love you, dearest! For God’s sake, believe me! Do as you will by me; I yield myself, my future, to you. It is only right; but—but believe me—I love you!”
“It is false, false!” she said, almost inaudibly; for Lady Ada’s voice was ringing in her ears and drowning her own. “I do not believe you! I know that you do not love me! Nothing you could say could convince me—nothing, nothing!”