Then, suddenly checking herself, she cast down her eyes, and blushed deeply.
"Your fault, Miss Monroe?" repeated the rector, inspired with the most lively curiosity to penetrate the mystery of that self-accusation which he had now heard for the second time: "I cannot believe that any fault of yours—you whom I found hanging over your beloved father——"
"Let us speak no more upon that subject," interrupted Ellen, vexed with herself for having so unguardedly said what she had relative to the primal cause of her father's dangerous illness. "He will recover—something tells me that he will recover; and then—oh! how I will cherish him—how I will exert myself to make the remainder of his days happy!"
Her countenance became flushed as she spoke; and Reginald's glances were fixed, by a species of invincible fascination, upon the beautiful being in whose presence he stood.
He felt at that moment that he could sacrifice every thing for her love.
The surgeon and Richard Markham now entered the apartment; and Reginald received the thanks of our young hero for the attention which he had shown to the old man whose life had ceased to be despaired of.
After a somewhat protracted visit, the rector took his leave.
But throughout that day Ellen alone occupied all his thoughts. What fault of hers could have thrown her father upon a bed of sickness, whose only termination was at one time anticipated to be in death? what could have been the conduct of so fond a daughter to have produced such terrible results? Had she strayed from the path of virtue? This was the only feasible solution of such a mystery. Then a terrible pang of jealousy shot through his breast.
And why should he be jealous? What was that young girl to him?
He was jealous, because his ardent passions instinctively attracted him towards that beautiful creature;—and she was every thing to him, because she was so beautiful, and because he desired her!