“Then what reason, in the name of Heaven, had you for thinking that he loved you?”
“Because he asked me to become his wife. Of course I never once imagined that he could have any other motive than affection for wishing to marry me?”
“But did not the suddenness of the proposal—for an immediate marriage, too—awaken your suspicions?”
“No; for it was his dying father’s wish to see us married by his bedside before he should pass away.”
“Oh! That puts quite a new face upon the whole proceeding. Poor child! To please that dying father you consented to marry that son at a moment’s notice.”
“No, madame; no. It was, as I said, because I loved Tudor Hereward, and believed he loved me, that I consented. Otherwise I should never have done so, even to satisfy the beloved, dying father, though I would willingly have died to redeem his life, had that been possible,” earnestly answered Lilith.
“Ah, well! You loved him, and I suppose he knew it. That redeems the affair from utter abomination. But perhaps you do not like to speak of your short union with Mr. Hereward?”
“I do not shrink from speaking of it, nor do I break any faith in speaking of him, for, madame, we are parted more effectually than even death can part those who love each other.”
“But you love him?”
Lilith answered by a deep, silent sob as she dropped her face into her hands.