She accorded no answer.
'You have ceased to be true to me. I have known and felt it for weeks past,' he continued, 'and yet I cannot regain my freedom of heart.'
Her head was weary, but her heart was beating wildly and painfully; and Robert's eyes, as he surveyed her with all their sadness of expression, were expressive of the fondest love.
Never before had these two spoken or confronted each other with bitterness of heart until now, and each felt that for the other all was over, and that the tender past, 'the grace of a day that was dead,' would never come again.
'Robert, I have always hated the idea of being poor,' urged Ellinor, as if to extenuate herself, 'and with you, a young, struggling, country practitioner, supposing the summit of your ambition won, I should never be otherwise. Pardon me,' she added, recalling the Alnaschar visions his visit had interrupted, 'if I speak unkindly.'
'Say, rather, cruelly, and you will be nearer the truth, Ellinor Wellwood; yet I am sorry for you.'
'Be not so, Robert. I repeat that I would never be happy poor—now,' she added, involuntarily.
'You have made that discovery since this interloper came!'
She was silent, but her silence was assent, and he took it as such.
'Not happy even at dear old Birkwoodbrae or the home I meant to provide close by it?' he said, reproachfully.