“I can never forget,” he said, vehemently. “Surely you understand that my love for you is unchanged.”
Suddenly there darted into her mind the remembrance of Norton’s words about the pretty daughter of the Gloucestershire squire. When spoken they had seemed to turn her love to hatred, yet in the sudden rapture of Gabriel’s return she had absolutely forgotten all about them. He could not understand the change that now came over her whole manner and bearing.
“Don’t speak of your love,” she said, indignantly. “All that is at an end—at best we can now be only friendly foes. More is impossible.”
“Why impossible?” he pleaded.
Then terror seizing him, he exclaimed, “Do you mean that someone else loves you?”
“Why do you ask?” she said, with some embarrassment.
“Oh! have pity on me, Hilary,” he cried. “At least tell me one way or the other. Is there some other lover?”
“Yes,” she owned. “There is one that loves me, and a right loyal gentleman he is—the Governor of Canon Frome.”
He turned pale. The silence and the suffering in his face angered Hilary.
“What right have you to be concerned?” she said, indignantly. “You have not really been constant to me; I well know that you have been making love to the heiress of a Gloucestershire squire.”