"I cannot comprehend," exclaimed Leyton, in surprise. "Your father has heard, I suppose, that I am here, and has menaced you with his curse."
"Oh, no!" answered Edith; "far from it. He was here but now; he spoke of you, Henry, as you deserve. He told me how he had loved you and esteemed you in your young days; how, though angry at first at our rash engagement, he would have consented in the end; but--there was a fatal 'but,' Henry--an impediment not to be surmounted. I must not tell you what it is--I cannot, I dare not explain. But listen to what he said besides. You have heard one part of the choice; hear the other: it is to wed a man whom I abhor--despise--contemn--whose very look is fearful to me; to ask you to give me back the vows I plighted, in order--in order," and she spoke very low, "that I may sacrifice myself for my father, that I may linger out a few weeks of wretchedness, and then sink into the grave, which is now my only hope."
"And do you ask me, Edith?" inquired Leyton, in a sad and solemn tone--"do you, Edith Croyland, really and truly ask me to give you back those vows? Speak, beloved--speak; for my heart is well nigh bursting."
He paused, and she was silent; covering her eyes with her hands, while her bosom heaved, as if she were struggling for breath. "No, no, no, Harry!" she cried, at length, as if the effort were vain, "I cannot, I cannot! Oh, Harry, Harry! I wish that I were dead!" and, casting her arms round his neck, she wept upon his breast again.
Henry Leyton drew her closer to him with his left arm round her waist; but pressed his right hand on his brow, and gazed on vacancy. Both remained without speaking for a time; but at length he said, in a voice more calm than might have been expected, "Let us consider this matter, Edith. You have been terrified by some means; a tale has been told you, which has agitated and alarmed you, which has overcome your resolution, that now has endured more than six years, and doubtless that tale has been well devised.--Are you sure that it is true?--Forgive this doubt in regard to one who is near and dear to you; but when such deceits have been practised, as those which we know have been used to delude us, I must be suspicious.--Are you sure that it is true, I say?
"Too true, too true!"' answered Edith, shaking her head, mournfully--"that tale explains all, too,--even those deceits you mention. No, no, it is but too true--it could not be feigned--besides, I remember so many things, all tending to the same. It is true--I cannot doubt it."
Sir Henry Leyton paused, and twice began to speak, but twice stopped, as if the words he was about to utter, cost him a terrible struggle to speak. At length he said, "And the man, Edith--the man they wish you to marry--who is he?"
"Ever the same," answered Edith, bending down her head, and her cheek, which had been as pale as death, glowing like crimson--"the same, Richard Radford."
"What! a felon!" exclaimed Leyton, turning round, with his brows bent; "a felon, after whom my soldiers and the officers of justice are now hunting through the country! Sir Robert Croyland must be mad! But I tell you, Edith, that man shall never stand within a church again, till it be the chapel of the gaol. Let him make his peace with Heaven; for if he be caught--and caught he shall be--there is no mercy for him on earth. But surely there must be some mistake. You cannot have understood your father rightly, or he cannot know----"
"Oh! yes, yes!" replied Edith; "he knows all; and it is the same. Ay, and within four days, too--that he may take me with him in his flight."