She did not utter a cry; she did not shriek; but starting from the sofa, and resting for support one hand against the wall, she turned to him her horror-stricken face, uttering a single word,—"You?"
"That I, descended from one of the first families of Carolina, on my father's side, am on the mother's side, connected with the accursed race?"
"You, Randolph, you!"
"That knowing this, I fled from Florence, when first I won your love; but to-day, dazzled by your beauty, mad with love of the very atmosphere in which you breathe, I forgot the taint in my blood, I saw our marriage hour draw nigh, with heaven itself in my heart—"
"O, my God, why can I not die?"
"That even now your father knows the fatal secret, and breathes curses upon me, as he pronounces my name; resolves, that you shall die by his hand, ere you become my wife—"
She saw his face, by the sudden light,—it was impressed by a mortal agony. And although the room seemed to swim around, and her knees bent under her, she rallied her fast-fading strength, and advanced toward him, but with tottering steps.
"You are either mad, or you wish to drive me mad," she said, and laid her hand upon his shoulder,—"there is no taint upon your blood! The thought is idle. You, so noble browed, with the look, the voice, the soul of a man of genius,—you, that I love so madly,—you, one of the accursed race? No, Randolph, this is but a cruel jest—"
Her eyes looked all the brighter for the pallor of her face, as she bent over him, and her hair, escaping from the diamond circlet, fell over his face and shoulders like a vail.
He drew her to him, and buried his face upon her bosom,—"Eleanor! Eleanor," he groaned in very bitterness of spirit, as that bosom beat against his fevered brow, and that flowing hair shut him in its glossy waves,—"It is no jest. I swear it. But you will yet be mine! Will you not, Eleanor,—in spite of everything,—spite of the taint in my blood, spite of your father's wrath—"