In her agitation her eyes involuntarily turned to the spot where she had dropped the colours she was working, and, to her increased confusion, the letters she had just completed met her eye. His glance followed hers, and instantly he exclaimed, with an eye sparkling with jealousy and surprise,
"By the rood! lady, there are the very initials! So this pretty bit of bunting can tell tales! Now, by the cross, I see it all," he said, walking the room with anger and speaking in an under tone; "behind this tale of my deeds she let slip so glibly, and under cover of believing it, she fain would conceal her transferred love. Woman," he cried, sternly addressing her, "know you this Rupert Fitzroy well?"
"You hold no right to question me," she firmly replied, "and I refuse to answer."
"So, I have a rival! 'Tis love for another, and not hatred of the crimes you lay to my charge, that leads you to scorn me thus. The arms of thy house above his name! Ha! 'tis a well-ripened love! I'll find it out; and if he who stands between me and thee be on the sea or wide earth, I will cross blades with him. A proper youth, that thou art ashamed to own him—perhaps the young fisher's lad has taken my place—I have heard he took to the seas."
"Even he, if honourable, were worthier than thou, with the nobility which thou hast dishonoured. But he no longer lives. Lest you give wrong motives to my silence, I will confess to thee that I do know a Captain Fitzroy—Rupert Fitzroy—once your captive by most foul-handed treachery—now as far removed above you as the eagle, that looks unblenching on the sun, above the tortoise."
"You love him?"
"I do."
"Then, by the holy Heaven! thou shalt repent thy love and he, crossing my path ere the sun, that shall rise to-morrow, be a month older."
As he spoke he turned from her and disappeared through the window, leaving her overwhelmed with surprise, wonder, and alarm. She heard him strike the ground as he sprung from the low balcony, and listened with trembling to his departing footsteps as they rapidly crossed the lawn towards the seaside. For a few moments she remained standing as he had left her, as if endeavouring to realize what had passed, her eyes strained, her hands clasped across her forehead, her lips parted.
"Oh God, that this had been spared me!" she cried, with the bitterness of a soul surcharged with intense grief. "Have I seen him? Was it he? His voice—his air—oh, it was Lester's self!—he whom I have never ceased to love—whom—but these are dangerous thoughts—I must think of him no more. Oh crime, crime! what a deep and impassable gulf hast thou placed between us! Yet I have seen him, spoken with him! His hand has pressed mine in gentleness as it was wont. Oh how the past came back! time seemed obliterated, and I could at one moment have given myself up to him—but crime, crime! No, no, I must think no more of him; yet I am not sorry I have beheld him once more. Strange that, after so many years, and years of crime, have elapsed, he should still be dear to me! No, no, he is not dear to me—not he as he is—it is Lester of my youth—it is he that I love—he I alone think of, whose memory I can never cease to cherish; but this guilty being I know not! Yet he is Lester! My poor, poor head—my poor heart—how they strive with one another. Oh that my love could wash out his crimes! But whither do my thoughts wander? The sight of him has made me forget that I am no longer a wild girl at Castle Cor. I must root out his young love, and try no longer to identify myself now with myself then. I am now the betrothed of another—of another who has won me by his sympathy and gentleness, by his nobleness and his honour, by his manly virtues, and the deep devotion of his pure and elevated love. Rupert, I will not be false to thee; the trial is over. Henceforward I will fill my heart with thee alone, though I did tell thee, when thou didst woo me on the sea, that I would not give it all up to thee; that in one part was sacredly embalmed the sad memory of a first, yet unworthy love!"