He laughed softly.
“There are steps some men take,” he said, “that can never be retraced, and this I have done is one of those steps. You are a woman of sense, and know your people. I staked all upon this cast, and I have won. If I give way now, what will the English people, who are so proud of their honour, say to the beauty of their station, who comes back to them darkened like one of us? What will they say to the lady who comes back to them after so many days in Rajah Murad’s harem?”
Helen started as if she had been stung, and her eyes flashed their indignation at this cowardly speech.
But she felt directly after that anger would be useless—that she must gain time; and once more trembling in every limb, she forced herself to plead.
“I have some mastery over him,” she thought, and determining to retain, and if possible strengthen it, she forced back every semblance of anger, and placed her hands together in supplication.
“You told me once that you loved me,” she said softly.
“I told you once? I have told myself I loved you a thousand times,” he cried passionately.
“Then you would not disgrace me in the eyes of my people?” she pleaded.
“No,” he cried. “I would not; I love you far too well.”
“Then set me free—send me back to my home.”