“Miss Haredale,” said Sylvester, standing up before her, “I have come to beg you not to marry Sir Richard Grattan. Forgive me—forgive me. I am so beyond defence on any ground but one, that no beating about the bush will soften my actions. I love you, therefore I understand you. Your heart is not in this marriage. If you give away your freedom, all the best part of you will die. I am pleading for no one, not for myself nor for Lucian. Oh, don’t deny your heart—your soul—don’t do this thing.”
His voice was full of such strong vibration, though he spoke low, his eyes so full of passionate purpose, the astonishment at his words was so great, that Amethyst stood looking at him for a moment, with wide-open eyes and parted lips. He took courage and went on—
“I know it would be all well enough for some women. I know how often it is done. But it is not right for you—not for you. That which you defy—you don’t think it is your conscience—but it is—it is—it is the Voice of God within you. It is the highest claim that He can make on you.” Sylvester came close to her and grasped her hands. In her wide startled eyes, he seemed to read what he must say. Not one thought of himself marred the intensity of his appeal, and she made no attempt to fence with him, forgot how easily, with one conventional word, she could have put him aside. He seized upon her and dominated her, as no one else had ever done.
“I did not think God ever spoke to me,” she said.
“Oh yes, He does,” answered Sylvester. “I have seen your eyes listen.”
“But,” said Amethyst, “I don’t think you can know. My romance is over. I—till a few days back—I was quite content to marry him. He is quite good. And I am almost bound. It would do such dreadful harm to draw back. It would be wrong just to follow a feeling—a fear—”
“No, no!” cried Sylvester. “Ten thousand times—no! If so, every martyr, every patriot, who followed his highest instincts, regardless of old ties, every soul that had to save itself at any price, every one who has cut off the right hand, put out the right eye, has been wrong. Oh, the right hand, the right eye, are always so good. There is so much to be said for them! You can make out so good a case! Oh, you are so young, you seem but a child, you don’t know really what you are doing. You think of your duty to others. No one has taught you your duty to yourself.”
“Oh,” said Amethyst, with a sort of sad dignity, “I know much more about it all than you think.” She moved a little away from him, and sat down, then presently went on speaking out her thoughts. Sylvester seemed to her almost like an incarnation of the opposing force within her.
“I don’t think it was wrong as I was—at least for some people there does not seem anything very right. Your father said I was to try for the least wrong—the rather better.”
“Yes,” said Sylvester, “the least wrong—the most right for you!”