“Captain Mowbray,” said Edith, “if you are a captain, which I doubt, such explanations as these are paltry. After what you have done, the only thing left is silence.”
“Oh, Miss Dalton, will nothing lead you to listen to me? I would lay down my life, to serve you.”
“You still wish to serve me; then?” asked Edith.
“Most fervently,” cried Mowbray.
“Then open that gate,” said Edith.
Mowbray hesitated.
“Open that gate,” said Edith, “and prove your sincerity. Open it, and efface these marks,” she cried, as she indignantly held up her right hand, and showed her wrist, all black from the fierce grasp in which Mowbray had seized it. “Open it, and I promise you I will listen patiently to all that you may have to say.”
“Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, “if I opened that gate I should never see you again.”
“You will never see me again if you do not.”
“At least I shall be near you.”