“You know not, Imogene, how I have loved and love you. Even supposing that I have acted with any rashness in this, why will you insist on my suffering for it? Why should reproaches be added to rejection, as if to make the cup of bitterness more full? Come, Imogene, we must yet be friends. I do not press you for an immediate answer; but tell me you will think of me, and think more kindly, and I will be happy. I go now, but will return on the morrow to receive my answer.”
Bowing low, he turned to depart.
“Hold! hold, sir!” exclaimed Imogene. “I wish to be harassed no further by these unwelcome visits. Your very presence fills me with a loathsome feeling I can not express. You can not deceive me by your duplicity. I know your purposes are vile. Hear then my answer. It is irrevocable and absolute. I hate you! I despise you! My soul tells me that you are worse than you appear. You have bribed a villain with a heart as black as your own, to deliver me into your power. Think you that vengeance sleepeth? No! its loud cry will rise to Heaven until you perish beneath its withering influence!”
As she spoke these words, with an energy beyond what she had ever shown, the fire that smoldered on the hearth fell in, and caused a sudden light to fill the place.
It shone ruddy brown upon the beautiful but stern face and uplifted arm of Imogene, and gave to her the appearance of an angel denouncing on the head of the villain before her the sentence of eternal woe.
It glared likewise upon the pale countenance of the Tory, and gave to his distorted features a look of ghastliness and fear that might have suited such an occasion well.
The awe-inspiring picture lasted but for a second, then vanished. The fire again sunk low, the light grew dim. It came like a dismal vision, and like a vision faded.
This was more than her visitor had expected. He felt how thoroughly he was despised, and for a moment was speechless; but quickly recovering himself, a Satanic look overspread his countenance, and his eyes glared with a furious fire as he fairly hissed these words between his teeth:
“You have given me your answer, now list ye to mine! When we were but mere children together, you rejected my boyish love—you looked down upon me with scorn and contempt as you do now—you spurned me from you as though I were a dog, without pity, without mercy! Think you that I am impervious to such wrongs, such insults? Think you that you can with impunity beard the lion in his den, without reaping the result of your audacity? Mark ye! I will give you three days to reconsider your rash decision; at the expiration of that time, I will return for a final answer. Should you refuse me, then you are mine—mine, body and soul. There is no one to whom you can appeal for assistance—none that can help you. I alone possess that power, and should you disdain to avail yourself of it, then you are irretrievably lost!” and with a demoniac laugh, the Tory rushed from the place.
Imogene gazed for a moment with a wild stare after the retreating form of her late visitor, then reeled, and sunk swooning to the floor.