“When I promised, I intended to have kept my word, Laura,” said he, in deep dejection; “I believed I could have stifled the passion that consumes me, and talked to you in the words of sincere, devoted friendship, but I cannot. Old memories of once happiness, brought up too vividly by seeing you, as I used to see you, when in many a country walk we sauntered on, dreaming of the time when, mine, by every tie of right, as by affection—”
“How you requited that affection, Linton!” said she, in a tone whose deep reproach seemed actually to stun him. Then suddenly changing to an air of disdainful anger, she continued: “You are a bold man, Linton. I thought it would be too much for even your hardihood to recur to a theme so full of humiliation for yourself; but I know your theory, sir: you think there is a kind of heroism in exaggerated baseness, and that it is no less great to transcend men in crime than in virtue. You dare to speak of an affection that you betrayed and bartered for money.”
“I made you a peeress, madam. When you were Laura Gardiner, you couldn't have spoken to me as now you speak.”
“If I consented to the vile contract, it was that, when I discovered your baseness, any refuge was preferable to being the wife of one like you!”
“A most complimentary assurance, not only to myself, but his Lordship,” said Linton, with an insolent smile.
“Now, hear me,” said she, not noticing the taunt, but speaking with a voice of deep collected earnestness. “It is in vain to build upon time or perseverance—the allies you trust so deeply—to renew the ties broken forever. If I had no other higher and more sustaining motive, my knowledge of you would be enough to rescue me from this danger. I know you well, Linton. You have often told me what an enemy you could be. This, at least, I believe of all that you have ever sworn! I have a full faith, too, in your ingenuity and skill; and yet I would rather brave both—ay, both hate and craft—than trust to what you call your honor.”
“You do indeed know me well, Laura,” said he, in a voice broken and faltering, “or you never had dared to speak such words to me. There is not one breathing could have uttered them and not pay the penalty, save yourself. I feel in my inmost heart how deeply I have wronged you, but is not my whole life an atonement for the wrong? Am I not heartbroken and wretched, without a hope or a future? What greater punishment did any one ever incur than to live in the daily sight and contemplation of a bliss that his own folly or madness have forever denied him; and yet, to that same suffering do I cling, as the last tie that binds me to existence. To see you in the world, to watch you, to mark the effect your grace and beauty are making on all around you—how every fascination calls up its tribute of admiration—how with each day some new excellence develops itself, till you seem inexhaustible in all the traits of graceful womanhood, this has been the cherished happiness of my life! It was to this end I labored to induce the acceptance of that invitation that once more, beneath the same roof, I should see you for days long. Your own heart must confess how I have never before the world forgotten the distance that separates us. There is, then, no fear that I should resign every joy that yet remains to me for any momentary indulgence of speaking to you as my heart feels. No, no, Laura, you have nothing to dread either from my hate or my love.”
“To what end, then, was it that you asked me to meet you here to-day?” said she, in a voice in which a touch of compassionate sorrow was blended.
“Simply to entreat, that if I should succeed in persuading his Lordship to accept this visit, you would throw no obstacle in the way on your side.”
“And if I consent, shall I have no cause to rue my compliance?”