“But you live in fear of him. Oh, Marion, Marion, how long is this weary life to last? Once more let me plead. Would not a quiet life with my devotion be a happier one than this miserable luxury, where you are constantly persecuted by a scoundrel?”
“Oh, hush, hush!” she murmured. “I have told you it can never be.”
“Yes, but these are words. Your woman’s honour forbids you to stay.”
“Hush, for pity’s sake! You torture me,” she cried. “Must I explain, but you must see and know that I am tied down to it, that I cannot leave my brother—that he would never let me go.”
“I cannot—I will not believe but that all this is imaginary,” said Chester, firmly. “Will you not trust me? Will you not tell me what it all means, and let me, a man, be the judge?”
“No,” she said, mastering her emotion and speaking calmly now. “Once more, I cannot, I will not explain. Why have you come down here?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“You know,” he said. “Where should I be but near the woman who is my very life?”
“But it is madness—it is misery and torture to me.”
“Poor wretch that I am,” he said bitterly. “Still, I cannot help it.”