CHAPTER V. — A STRANGE DELUSION.
Trevennack and his wife sat alone that night in their bare rooms at Gunwalloe. Cleer had gone out to see some girls of her acquaintance who were lodging close by in a fisherman’s house; and the husband and wife were left for a few hours by themselves together.
“Michael,” Mrs. Trevennack began, as soon as they were alone, rising up from her chair and coming over toward him tenderly, “I was horribly afraid you were going to break out before those two young men on the cliff to-day. I saw you were just on the very brink of it. But you resisted bravely. Thank you so much for that. You’re a dear good fellow. I was so pleased with you and so proud of you.”
“Break out about our poor boy?” Trevennack asked, with a dreamy air, passing his bronzed hand wearily across his high white forehead.
His wife seated herself sideways upon the arm of his chair, and bent over him as he sat, with wifely confidence. “No, no, dear,” she said, taking his hand in hers and soothing it with her soft palm. “About—YOU know—well, of course, that other thing.”
At the mere hint, Trevennack leaned back and drew himself up proudly to his full height, like a soldier. He looked majestic as he sat there—every inch a St. Michael. “Well, it’s hard to keep such a secret,” he answered, laying his free hand on his breast, “hard to keep such a secret; and I own, when they were talking about it, I longed to tell them. But for Cleer’s sake I refrained, Lucy. For Cleer’s sake I always refrain. You’re quite right about that. I know, of course, for Cleer’s sake I must keep it locked up in my own heart forever.”
The silver-haired lady bent over him again, both caressingly and proudly. “Michael, dear Michael,” she said, with a soft thrill in her voice, “I love you and honor you for it. I can FEEL what it costs you. My darling, I know how hard you have to fight against it. I could see you fighting against it to-day; and I was proud of the way you struggled with it, single-handed, till you gained the victory.”
Trevennack drew himself up still more haughtily than before. “And who should struggle against the devil,” he said, “single-handed as you say, and gain the victory at last, if not I, myself, Lucy?”