“Then Heaven have mercy on me! No! I am not deceived, you pitied me. You speak coldly now; but I know your face and your heart—you pity me!”
“I do respect, admire, and pity you,” said Mrs. Woffington, sadly; “and I could consent nevermore to communicate with your—with Mr. Vane.”
“Ah!” cried Mabel; “Heaven will bless you! But will you give me back his heart?”
“How can I do that?” said Mrs. Woffington, uneasily; she had not bargained for this.
“The magnet can repel as well as attract. Can you not break your own spell? What will his presence be to me, if his heart remain behind?”
“You ask much of me.”
“Alas! I do.”
“But I could do even this.” She paused for breath. “And perhaps if you, who have not only touched my heart, but won my respect, were to say to me, 'Do so,' I should do it.” Again she paused, and spoke with difficulty; for the bitter struggle took away her breath. “Mr. Vane thinks better of me than I deserve. I have—only—to make him believe me—worthless—worse than I am—and he will drop me like an adder—and love you better, far better—for having known—admired—and despised Margaret Woffington.”
“Oh!” cried Mabel, “I shall bless you every hour of my life.” Her countenance brightened into rapture at the picture, and Mrs. Woffington's darkened with bitterness as she watched her.
But Mabel reflected. “Rob you of your good name?” said this pure creature. “Ah, Mabel Vane! you think but of yourself.”