"I will," said Mr. Sewell, relieved to see some of the horror fall from her face.
She would not discuss her future arrangements with him. Lady Lanswell was anxious that she should take a large sum of money and return home. She looked at him with the dignity of an outraged queen.
"Before Heaven, and in my own eyes, Lord Chandos is my husband," she said, with calm dignity; "and with him only will I discuss my future. You can tell his mother that also. No other creature living shall interfere with my fate or destiny."
She tried hard—and she was a woman of wonderful resource—she tried hard to keep her dignity, not to fail or falter before him, the cold emissary of that cruel mother; but unutterable woe looked out of her eyes at him, her white face had on it the passion of despair, her voice the ring of anguish, the small white hands on which the wedding-ring shone, trembled like leaves stirred in the summer wind; the very repression of her passionate despair made it seem more terrible. He clearly explained to her her position at last, she must consent to an immediate separation from Lord Chandos; she must give up his name, leave the shelter of his roof, or men and women, too, would brand her with the scarlet letter—would look on her as one lost and dead to all sense of honor.
"You will see for yourself," added the lawyer, "that the wisest and best plan is for you to go away at once—this very day even—then you will stand a better chance when next June comes. Even one more day spent under this roof would be fatal to your character and reputation. You must go at once."
Once more she raised her despairing eyes to him. Her voice trembled as though it were all tears.
"Tell me," she said, gently, "has this been done by Lady Lanswell's desire more than by the earl's?"
"Yes, I believe it is so," he said.
Leone continued:
"If the countess relented now, and gave her consent, could we be legally married at once?"