Chapter XXIV.
THE PRICE OF A SOUL.
I love you, love you; for your love would lose
State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own esteem.
—Byron.
He spoke these two words with such a desperate look, in such a desperate tone, that Mary Grey was half frightened; for she saw that he was in that fatal mood in which men have been driven to crime or death for the love of woman.
This was the mood to which she wished to bring him, and in which she wished to keep him until he should have done his work; and yet it half frightened her now.
"Hush—hush!" she murmured. ["Be] quiet! There are people in the next room. They may hear you. And I am sure they should do so they would take you for a lunatic."
"But—do you believe me? Do you believe that I would defy the universe in your service? Do you believe me? If not, try me!" he aspirated, vehemently.
"I do believe you. And some day I will try you. You have won my love; but he who wins my hand must first prove his love for me in a way that will leave no doubt upon the fact."