"Cease, sir. This is no language for me to hear. Once—but, no matter—'tis past. If you have aught to say touching matters foreign to this, speak, and I can listen; then, prithee depart. Oh, that thou hadst kept away from me for ever! The sight of thee has torn my heart!"
"Then there is hope?"
"None."
"Hast forgotten," he said, with passionate tenderness, "how often we have sailed together on the little mere by Castle More; how together we have pursued the stag through the forests of Castle Cor; how oft we have rambled by the shores of its bay by moonlight, entwined in each other's arms as we walked; how we loved one another, and did pledge in the sight of Heaven undying love—"
"Robert, Robert—" she cried, moved by the touching images he had recalled.
"Have you forgotten," he continued, in the same tone, rising and advancing a step nearer to her, while she leaned against the harp, nor thought to retreat from him, "oh, have you quite forgotten all this? Can you recall it and bid me leave thee? Will you spurn him you have loved and still love—"
"Hold, hold! I love thee not! no, no, I love thee not. You presume too much, sir," she added, starting from her attitude, and with difficulty assuming a haughty bearing. "A maiden may once love, and, finding she has loved unworthily, hate!"
"Dearest Kate," he said, in a tone that reminded her of the days when they were lovers, gently taking her hand.
"Nay, stand back, sir!" she cried, troubled and with difficulty governing the tones of her voice, which returning love fain would have fashioned in its own sweet way.
"Nay, dearest Kate, you love me still! Wherefore this shrinking form and averted eye—this wild look of alarm—this struggle to reprove when your heart gushes with returning love? Why do you gaze on me with looks of horror! At one moment terror is depicted on your face, at another tenderness takes its place. It could not be thus if you scorned me!"