It was very dangerous. There had been a sudden discovery coming directly upon Nelly’s announcement that she had something grievous to impart. He had evidently been looked upon as a rude uncultivated boor, and this London exquisite had been preferred before him. In his poor country ignorance, he had been looking upon Ella Bedford’s words as the utterances of a saint, gazing at her every act through a couleur de rose medium, till now, when he was rudely awakened from his simple love-dream; while, as if offering balm for the wound, here was a passionate loving woman talking, nay, breathing to him in whispers her tender reproaches for what she evidently looked upon as his neglect.
What could he do? He felt that his faith to one he loved would be firm as a rock; but he owed no allegiance—he had been played with—and this woman to whom he had breathed his love had preferred gloss and polish to his simple homely ways.
It was thus that Charley Vining reasoned with himself, as slightly raising his arm he, as it were, made the first step towards a future of trouble; for the next instant Laura’s hand was laid gently upon that arm, and they were sauntering slowly along. She, trembling and excited; he, swayed by varied emotions—disappointment, rage, bitterness, and added to all, the knowledge that he had left that gentle loving old man heart-broken at his persistence in what he now owned to himself had been a wild insane passion.
“You do not speak—you say nothing to me,” said Laura softly, as she turned slightly, so as to look in his face. “I must in some way have unwittingly caused you annoyance. But there, Charley, I will not dissemble; I know why you are angry, and I must speak. You will think lightly of me—you will even sneer,” she said, and he could see that the tears were running down her cheeks, and that her breast heaved painfully; “but I cannot help it; I must speak now that for once there is an opportunity. You are vexed with me because I was so madly angry with you for flirting. But you would not be, Charley, if you knew all. I don’t think you would willingly hurt any one; but thoughtless acts sometimes give great pain.”
Charley did not reply, but his arm trembled as they walked on, Laura’s passionate words being very truthful, as by a bold stroke she tried to recover the ground she told herself that she had lost.
“See how humble I am. I never, that I can remember, asked pardon before of any one, but I do of you; and I feel humbled and abased as I think, for I know it is enough to make you mock at me. But though you refuse to know my heart, I know yours well, and that it is too much that of a gentleman for you ever to make me repent of what I say.”
Still Charley was silent, though Laura paused to hear him speak. This interview had been unexpected, and had come upon her by surprise; but, led away by her feelings, words in torrents were pressing upon one another ready to pour forth, and she had to struggle hard to keep those words within due bounds, lest in her agitation she should make a broader avowal than that already uttered, and cause him to turn from her in disgust.
“Have I so deeply offended you? Can you not pardon me? Is mine such a sin against you, Charley, that I am always to suffer—suffer more deeply than you can believe?”
“I am not offended,” he said gently. “Indeed, you mistake me.”
“Charley!” she exclaimed in a burst of passionate emotion; for the soft, gently-spoken words seemed to sweep away the barrier that she should have more sternly supported—“I cannot help it; I am half heart-broken. You have been cruel to me; you have maddened me into saying things, and treating you in my rage in a way that has torn my own breast. But you will forgive me—you will be to me as you were a few months back—and, above all, promise me this, that you will not think lightly of me for this. Indeed, indeed, I cannot, cannot help it; I—I—”