"Pardon me," said John, raising his hand; "we decided, if you recollect, that we should go through this matter to the end. You will not deny the accusation, I know, for you are too proud to stoop to any such mean subterfuge; and even if you did, I could not believe you, for I have the confession of one whom this scoundrel has made an accomplice. You see it is not entirely on your account that I have to bring this man to book, Miss Stafford," said John, who had turned very white, and whose hands were clenching nervously. "He has debased my sister into becoming a participator of his wretched work, a tool to help him to his miserable end. All the time that Bella was intimate with you, she was, unknown to you, fetching and carrying between you and this man, feeding your vanity with accounts of his admiration, giving him information as to your movements, playing the wretched part of half go-between, half spy."
"You know that I knew nothing of this!" Daisy broke out.
"Perfectly," said John Merton; "but that only makes it the worse for her. However, it is not of her I came to speak, but of you."
"I think you may spare yourself the trouble," said Daisy, looking steadily at him; "you have no position giving you the slightest claim to interfere with me or my actions, and in forming conjectures, in coming to conclusions about my future movements, you have already taken a most unwarrantable liberty. I desire that you say no more, and leave me at once."
"Ah, for God's sake, no!" cried John Merton, in a tone so shrill and startling that it went to Daisy's heart--"Ah, for God's sake, no! Give up this outside crust of stoicism and conventionality, and let me plead to the woman that you really are. Have you for an instant thought of what you are doing? I know that you have temporised without giving any answer. Bella told me that; but have you thought how even this delay may compromise you? Are you, so lovely as you are, so bright and clever and graceful, going to sacrifice your whole life, to place all those charms at the mercy of a man who will use them while he chooses, and fling them away when he is tired? I don't want to preach; I only want to put matters plainly before you. Suppose you consent to this infernal proposal which has been made to you. The man is old; he has not even the excuse of a mad passion, which is deaf to the calls of conscience, or even to the common feelings of humanity. He has not that excuse; he is old, and jaded, and fickle; the life which he is leading requires constantly new excitement; and after a little time your novelty will have passed away, and you will be thrown aside to shift for yourself. Could your high spirit brook that? Could you bear to see yourself pointed at as deserted, or, worse than all, find yourself compelled to become subject to some venal bargain--Oh God, it is too horrible to think of!"
"I will not bear this from anyone; certainly not from you. What right have you to interfere?"
"What right have I to interfere! The right of having loved you with all my whole soul and strength; the right of one whose future has been bittered by your refusal to share it with him. I don't pine," he cried, "about a broken heart; I can bear to contemplate the lonely life which I shall have to lead; I could bear"--and the words here came very slowly through his set teeth--"to see you happily married to a man who appreciated and loved you, as I should have delighted in doing; but I will not stand patiently by to see the woman I have loved held up to the world's scorn, or deliberately dragged down to the depths of infamy."
He spoke so strongly and so earnestly, his rude eloquence came evidently from the depths of his troubled heart, that even Daisy's stubborn pride seemed a little touched.
"I know you mean this kindly towards me, Mr. Merton," she said, in a low voice; "and I fear I have shown myself scarcely sufficiently grateful, or even civil, to you; but, believe me, I appreciate your motives, and I thank you for coming here. Now you must go."
"You will not send me away without assurance that this cruel thing shall not be; that you will say No to this horrible proposal, and never give it another moment's thought. Ah, do not think I am pleading for myself; do not think I am cherishing any vain hope that, this once put aside, I may come forward again and urge my suit. It is not so, I swear. I have accepted my fate, and shall--well, shall struggle on somehow, I daresay. It is for you, and you alone, that I am interested. Let me go away with the assurance that you are saved. Ah, Fanny, it is not much I ask you. Let me go away with that."