“But if I can’t—” Clare tried to say.
“You can—you must—you shall!” broke in Brook, hoarsely, his eyes growing brighter and fiercer. “I didn’t know what it was to love anybody, and now that I know, I can’t live without it, and I won’t.”
“But if—”
“There is no ‘if,’” he cried, in his low strong voice, fixing her eyes with his. “There’s no question of my going mad, or dying, or anything half so weak, because I won’t take no. Oh, you may say it a hundred times, but it won’t help you. I tell you I love you. Do you understand what that means? I’m in God’s own earnest. I’ll give you my life, but I won’t give you up. I’ll take you somehow, whether you will or not, and I’ll hide you somewhere, but you sha’n’t get away from me as long as you live.”
“You must be mad!” exclaimed the young girl, scarcely above her breath, half-frightened, and unable to loose her eyes from the fascination of his.
“No, I’m not mad; only you’ve never seen any one in earnest before, and you’ve been condemning me without evidence all along. But it must stop now. You must tell me what it is, for I have a right to know. Tell me what it all is. I will know—I will. Look at me; you can’t look away till you tell me.”
Clare felt his power, and felt that his eyes were dazzling her, and that if she did not escape from them she must yield and tell him. She tried, and her eyelids quivered. Then she raised her hand to cover her own eyes, in a desperate attempt to keep her secret. He caught it and held it, and still looked. She turned pale suddenly. Then her words came mechanically.
“I was out there when you said ‘good-bye’ to Lady Fan. I heard everything, from first to last.”
He started in surprise, and the colour rose suddenly to his face. He did not look away yet, but Clare saw the blush of shame in his face, and felt that his power diminished, while hers grew all at once, to overmaster him in turn.
“It’s scarcely a fortnight since you betrayed her,” she said, slowly and distinctly, “and you expect me to like you and to believe that you are in earnest.”