“Miss Elverton, I meant not that, as you know very well; I meant not to reproach you with your innocent rambles with me, your betrothed husband, who would die rather than offer you any offence. ‘The good reason’ which I have for thinking that you favor others is the evidence of my own senses. I saw you, Miss Elverton, walking here in close conversation with a stranger; and your answer appears to me very like a mere evasion of the explanation I must still demand,” he said, haughtily, keeping his stern eyes fixed upon her face with the look of a man having authority to arraign her conduct.
What explanation could poor Alma give? How could she answer his doubts? How soothe his jealousy? She dropped her clasped hands, and moaned with distress.
“I wait your answer, Miss Elverton.”
Alma wrung her hands and remained silent.
“When I was about to withdraw from your presence you recalled me; if not to volunteer the explanation that I seek, will you be kind enough to say for what other purpose?”
“Oh, Norham, be patient! do not misconceive me! I called you back to say to you that—that—”
“Well?”
“I came to the woods this afternoon in the hope of seeing you and speaking with you after so long an absence.”
“And met instead the lover that consoled you during my absence; but of whom perhaps you are tired now—that was very awkward while you were expecting to see me. Pray, Miss Elverton, have you given him also the promise of your hand as soon as you shall be of age and free to bestow it?” sneered the man.
“Oh, Norham! Norham! do not be so unjust to me! The person that I met this afternoon is no lover of mine; quite, quite the contrary! He is one who never could, under any possible circumstances, become one.”