“Oh, Heaven! yes. I did all that any man possibly could do to win him over! I appealed to his affection for her father, to his compassion for herself, to his regard for his own interests, to every motive that could actuate the soul of man—but in vain! He was not to be tempted by money, or moved by mercy. He made it a matter of conscience not to ‘betray his trust,’ as he called it. And when an honest man—a man like Anderson—takes a stand upon conscience, you might just as well try to uproot Helvellyn as to move him from his position!”
“Pitiless monster!” exclaimed Annella.
“No, he was not that either; he wept like a woman in refusing me; but his last words to me were, ‘Mr. Montrose, I dare not stain my soul with dishonor; and you, as a man of honor, should not dare to urge me to do so.’ What could I reply to that? Nothing. And I came away with a broken heart. Miss Wilder, have you no reproaches for me?”
“No. It is said that things beyond remedy should be beyond regret, and when they are not so, they should be remedied instead of regretted,” said Annella, in so strange a tone that her companion turned to look upon her, and started to see her lips drawn tightly away from her clenched teeth, and a deadly, stiletto-gleam darting from the contracted pupils of her half closed eyes.
“What do you mean, Annella?” he inquired in vague alarm.
“Nothing that I intend to confide to you or to any one else whose friendship is so cold a thing that they will not peril soul as well as body for a friend in extremity!” said Annella, severely.
“That is a very bitter reproach, which I do not deserve, Miss Wilder,” said Malcolm, sorrowfully.
“Is it? Good people like you and Mr. Anderson, who would not strain a point of conscience to save a friend, may think it bitter; I think it just; but then I’m not good, you know. I’m only devoted—mind, body, and estate, for life, death, and eternity—to my friends, or rather for my friend, for I feel only for one.”
“I believe you, Miss Wilder; you have not even the slightest pity for the anguish I suffer on Eudora’s account,” said Malcolm, bitterly.
“No, not one bit! for you have the use of your long limbs to go whither you please over this sunny earth. I pity only, that poor, sweet girl, who cannot get out; who is waiting only for death to release her from prison. But she shall not die! by all my hopes of heaven, she shall not!” hissed Annella through her clenched teeth, while the same fearful expression sat upon her tightly-drawn lips, and gleamed from her contracted eyes.