"Very good—let us change the ground, as that is disagreeable to you. You possess the noblest and most honourable nature of any man I know, Don Pablo. I presume you never had a thought of making Ellen your mistress?"
"No!" the young man savagely protested.
"Would you make her your wife, then?" Valentine said, with a cutting accent, as he looked him fixedly in the face.
Don Pablo bowed his head in despair.
"I am accursed!" he exclaimed.
"No," Valentine said, as he seized him sharply by the arm, "you are mad. Like all young men, passion sways and overpowers you—you listen to that alone; you despise the voice of reason, and hence commit faults which may speedily become, in spite of yourself, crimes."
"Do not speak thus, my friend."
"You have only reached faults as yet," Valentine said, imperturbably; "but take care."
"Oh, it is you who are mad, my friend, to say such things to me. Believe me, however great my love for Ellen may be, I shall never forget the duties imposed on me by the strange position in which fate has placed me."
"And yet for a month you have known the hiding place of the most implacable enemy of your family, and have kept it a profound secret, in order to satisfy the claims of a passion which can only have a disgraceful result for you! You see us vainly employing all the means in our power to discover the traces of our enemy, and you betray us coldly, deliberately, for the sake of a few love phrases which you find means to exchange daily with a girl, while making us believe that, like ourselves, you are engaged in fruitless researches. What name will you give to your conduct save that of a traitor?"