“I am not going to unravel a mystery in order to facilitate the cutting of my own throat.”
“It might be worth while to do something once for another’s sake than your own—it would break the monotony,” she retorted, all her sense tortured by his words, and even more so by his manner.
Long ago Faith had said in Soolsby’s but that he “blandished” all with whom he came in contact; but Hylda realised with a lacerated heart that he had ceased to blandish her. Possession had altered that. Yet how had he vowed to her in those sweet tempestuous days of his courtship when the wind of his passion blew so hard! Had one of the vows been kept?
Even as she looked at him now, words she had read some days before flashed through her mind—they had burnt themselves into her brain:
“Broken faith is the crown of evils,
Broken vows are the knotted thongs
Set in the hands of laughing devils,
To scourge us for deep wrongs.
“Broken hearts, when all is ended,
Bear the better all after-stings;
Bruised once, the citadel mended,
Standeth through all things.”
Suddenly he turned upon her with aggrieved petulance. “Why are you so eager for proof?”
“Oh, I have,” she said, with a sudden flood of tears in her voice, though her eyes were dry—“I have the feeling your mother had, that nothing will be well until you undo the wrong your father did. I know it was not your fault. I feel for you—oh, believe me, I feel as I have never felt, could never feel, for myself. It was brought on you by your father, but you must be the more innocent because he was so guilty. You have had much out of it, it has helped you on your way. It does not mean so much now. By-and-by another—an English-peerage may be yours by your own achievement. Let it go. There is so much left, Harry. It is a small thing in a world of work. It means nothing to me.” Once again, even when she had given up all hope, seeing what was the bent of his mind—once again she made essay to win him out of his selfishness. If he would only say, “I have you left,” how she would strive to shut all else out of her life!
He was exasperated. His usual prescience and prudence forsook him. It angered him that she should press him to an act of sacrifice for the man who had so great an influence upon her. Perversity possessed him. Lifelong egotism was too strong for wisdom, or discretion.
Suddenly he caught her hands in both of his and said hoarsely: “Do you love me—answer me, do you love me with all your heart and soul? The truth now, as though it were your last word on earth.”
Always self. She had asked, if not in so many words, for a little love, something for herself to feed on in the darkening days for him, for her, for both; and he was thinking only of himself.