"I can claim to be a man who has devoted all his talents, and all his energies, to the attainment of one object. You call me names! Bah! my dear Violet, have you forgotten that evening in Park Lane, when I told you she was dead, and you thought I had murdered her? You did not call me rude names then, I think!"
She shuddered, and hid her face in her hands. When she lifted it, it was as drawn as if she had risen from a long and wasting illness.
"It is true! It is true!" she moaned, hoarsely; "and now you want me to——" She could not go on, but her lips moved.
"I want you to keep your promise, that is all, my dear Violet," he said, coolly.
"And if I refuse?"
"You will not refuse," he said, quietly. "You dare not! If you are not ready to accompany me at five o'clock I shall go to Blair, and tell him all that I have told you.
"Come, Violet; you must know that it is of little avail to oppose me, much less to argue. Face the inevitable. You used to be a brave woman once, summon up some courage now. Consider, after all, what can you do better than fly with me? In an hour or two, at any moment, as I say, Blair and the countess will meet, the truth will be known, and you—what will you be? Nothing—worse than nothing! The law cannot give you redress, for Blair believed her dead; but none the less you will be—an outcast!"
She writhed and tore at the pillows in a frenzy of despair.
"Oh, please!" he murmured, reproachfully. "Is this the same woman who bade me separate Blair and Margaret Hale at any cost?—at any cost? Come, pluck up a little spirit. What must be, must be; and it is certain that you will have to yield to me."
"He can but kill me!" she moaned, desperately.