“Berenice, if you were alone in the world, and there was some great barrier to our marriage, I would not hesitate any longer. I would take you to myself. Don’t think too hardly of me. I am like a man who is denying himself heaven. But your husband lives. You belong to him. You do not know whether he is in prosperity, or whether he has forgotten. You do not know whether he has repented, or whether his life is still such as to justify your taking the law into your own hands, and forsaking him for ever. Listen to me, dear! If you will find out these things, if you can say to yourself and to me, and to your conscience, ‘he has found happiness without me, he has ignored and forgotten the tie between us, he does not need my sympathy, or my care, or my companionship,’ then I will have no more scruples. Only let us be sure that you are morally free from that man.”
She wrenched her hands away from his. There was a bright, red spot of colour flaring on her cheeks. Her eyes were on fire.
“You are mad!” she cried; “you do not love me! No man can know what love is who talks about doubts and scruples like you do! You are too cold and too selfish to realize what love can be! And to think that I have stopped to reason, to reason with you! Oh! my God! What have I done to be humbled like this?”
“Berenice!”
“Leave me! Don’t come near me any more! I shall thrust you out of my life! You never loved me! I could not have loved you! Go away! It has been a hideous mistake!”
“Berenice!”
“My God! Will you leave me?” she moaned. “You are driving me mad! I hate you!”
Her white hand flashed out into the darkness, as though she would have struck him! He bowed his head and went.