"You understand me, then?"
"I do."
"Then let me pass at once."
"Not until you have heard me. Will you hear me.... Will you, in this solemn moment, let me lay before you the whole history of my heart? You think me a villain, will you listen before you condemn?"
"I know not what plausible excuses..."
"Truth—the simplest truth shall be my defence. If that condemns me, I will submit in patience. Will you hear me?"
There was something so solemn and so touching in his tone, that Violet was deeply affected by it; the sad earnestness of his voice pleaded eloquently in his favour.
He approached, and took her hand; she withdrew it hastily, and moved towards the mantelpiece, against which she leaned in an attitude of exquisite dignity, turning her face towards him, prepared to listen. After gazing stedfastly at her for a few seconds, while he collected his thoughts, he thus spoke,—
"Violet, I am about to make a most painful avowal; one that will startle you; one that will seem wholly inexplicable. When but a boy, I loved—loved as boys love, unreasoningly and ardently. I have tropical blood in my veins, Violet, and all passions become intense with me. The girl I loved returned my affection. We were to have been married. I was called away from England. I returned to my father in Brazil. My father gave his consent to our marriage. I wrote to inform her of it: she was overjoyed. Her letters were as ardent as even I could wish. Suddenly they ceased. My father died. I was settling his affairs, and preparing to quit Brazil for England, when I learned from a newspaper that my affianced wife had married another."
He paused: a choking sensation in his throat impeded utterance. Violet had listened eagerly, and still kept her eyes fixed upon him.