Zillah at first was overwhelmed by this sudden outburst. But soon, by a mighty effort, she seemed to gain control over herself. She tore herself away, and staggered back a few paces.
"Spare me!" she gasped. "Have pity! have mercy! If you love me, I implore you by your love to be merciful! I am so weak. As you hope for heaven, spare me!"
She was trembling violently, and her words were scarcely coherent. At the deep and piteous entreaty of her voice Lord Chetwynde's heart was touched. With a violent effort he seemed to regain his self-control. A moment before he had been possessed of a wild, ungovernable passion, which swept all things away. But now this was succeeded by a calm, and he stood for a time silent.
"You will forgive me," he said at last, sadly. "You are more noble than I am. You do right to refuse me. My request seems to you like madness. Yes, you are right to refuse, even though I go into despair. But listen, and you will see how it is. I love you, but can never win you, for there is a gulf between us. You may have suspected--I am married already! Between us there stands one who keeps us forever asunder; _and--that--one--I--hate--worse--than--death_!"
He spoke these last words slowly, and with a savage emphasis, into which all the intensity of his love had sent an indescribable bitterness.
And there was one who heard those words, in whose ears they rang like a death-knell; one crouched behind among the shrubbery, whose hands clung to the lattice of the arbor; who, though secure in her concealment, could scarcely hide the anguish which raged within her. At these words the anguish burst forth. A groan escaped her, and all her senses seemed to fail in that moment of agony.
Zillah gave a cry.
"What was that? Did you hear it?" she exclaimed, catching Lord Chetwynde's arm.
Lord Chetwynde had heard it also. "It's nothing," said he, after listening for a moment. "Perhaps it's one of the deer."
"I'm afraid," said Zillah.