“And who is there thus highly placed, and willing to befriend us.”
Hemsworth laid his hand upon his heart, and bowing with deep humility, uttered, in a low, faint voice—
“He who now stands before you!”
“You,” cried Kate, as clasping her hands in an ecstacy, she fixed her tearful eyes upon him. “You would do this?” Then growing suddenly pale, as a sick shudder came over her, she said, in a deep and broken voice, “At what price, sir?”
The steady gaze she fixed upon him seemed to awe and abash him, and it was with unfeigned agitation that he now spoke.
“A price which the devotion of a life long could not repay. Alas! a price I dare no more aspire to, than hope for.”
“Speak plainly, sir,” said Kate, in a firm, collected tone, “this is not a moment for misconception. What part have I to play in this compact, for by your manner I suppose you include me in it?”
“Forgive me, young lady, I have not courage to place the whole fortunes of my life upon one cast; already I feel the heaviness of heart that heralds in misfortune. I would rather live on with even this faint glimmer of hope than with the darkness of despair for ever.” His hands dropped powerless at his side, his head fell forward on his bosom, and as if without an effort of his will, almost unconsciously his lips muttered the words, “I love you.”
Had the accents been the sting of an adder they could not have called up an expression of more painful meaning than flashed over Kate's features.
“And this, then, is the price you hinted at—this was to be the compact.”