‘That is all the more reason why you should take mine,’ breaks he in hotly.
‘And so destroy it. I shall not, indeed,’ says the girl firmly. Her firmness is costing her a good deal. It causes Wyndham absolute physical suffering to see the pallor of her face, the trembling of her slight form. But that he can shake her decision seems improbable. Something in her face takes him back to that terrible hour in which he first saw her, when with pale face and undaunted spirit she accepted the chance of death. Her voice, even in this hour of renunciation of all that she holds dearest, rings clear. ‘Do you think I would requite all your kindness to me by being the cause of your disinheritance by your uncle? Do you think Lord Shangarry would ever forgive your marriage with a woman of whom no one knows anything—not even her parentage?’
‘I am willing to risk all that.’
‘But I’—slowly—‘am not.’
‘Ella, if you loved me——’
‘Ah!’ A cry breaks from her, a cry that betrays her secret, and convinces him of her love for him. It is full of exquisite pain, and seems to wound her. Is it not because she loves him that—— ‘Well, then,’ says she miserably, ‘say I do not. Think I do not.’
‘I will not think it,’ cries he vehemently, ‘until you say it. Ella, my beloved, what has this old man’s wealth to do with you or me? What has the world to do with us? Come now, look into it with me. Here are you, and here am I, and what else is there in all the wide world for us two, Ella?’ And now he breaks into earnest, most manly entreaties, and wooes her with all his soul, and at last—as a true lover should—upon his knees.
But she resists him, pushing his clasping hands away.
‘I will not! I will not!’ repeats she steadfastly.
‘Oh, you are cold; you do not care,’ cries he suddenly.