"To you!" cried Dan, scarcely believing his ears.
"Yes. You now know my secret. I love you! I love you! I wish to make you my husband. You are poor, but I am rich. Take me--take my money--only leave that wretched girl and come to me, who truly loves you."
Dan stepped back a pace, and looked at her in amazement. Her face was flushed, her eyes were unnaturally bright, and her whole body trembled with emotion as she stretched out appealing hands to him. He was so utterly astonished, that for the moment he did not know what to say--what to do.
"I love you. Come to me," she cried passionately. "You must see how I am prepared to give up all for you."
"But I--I am not--not worthy," he stammered.
"You are in my eyes."
"I am poor--nameless--unknown."
"What is that to me? I am rich--take my money. I have a name--take it as your own. With my name and my money you can make yourself known. Only love me."
It was an extremely awkward situation. Here was Dan, standing helplessly before this impassionate woman, unable to move, almost unable to speak. He faltered, stammered, hesitated, while she with outstretched arms drew nearer. It was impossible to say how he would have extricated himself from the dilemma, had not a memory of his conversation with Merle flashed across his brain. He acted on the impulse of the moment, and flung out a hand to keep her back.
"No. It is impossible. You are mad. Think of Mallard."