"Oh, say not that, Walter," sobbed Lilian "do not say my affection."
"Oh, horror! what misery can equal such an avowal? My fatal absence has undone us both."
"Say, rather, your fatal inconstancy."
"Mine?" reiterated Walter.
"Oh, yes, yes; upbraid me not," said Lilian in a piercing voice. "I was faithful and true until you forsook me for another. To God I appeal," she cried, raising her clasped hands and weeping eyes to Heaven, "kneeling I appeal if ever in word, or thought, or hope I swerved in truth from thee, dear Walter, until tidings of your marriage reached me; when, stung by jealousy, by pride, by disappointment and despair, and urged by the unmerited contumely that had fallen upon me, I yielded to the exhortations of my friends, and in an evil hour——." She covered her face with her hands, and could say no more.
"Heaven preserve my senses!" ejaculated Walter Fenton, "for here the wiles of Hell have been at work. We have been deceived, cruelly deceived, dear Lilian, by some deep-laid plot of villany which this right hand shall yet unravel and revenge. And you are the wife of Clermistonlee? Hear me, unfortunate! You are less than—ah, how shall I say it? You are not and cannot be his wife!"
"You rave, poor Walter. Our doom is irrevocably sealed. Our paths in life must be for ever separate. Oh, for the love of gentle mercy begone, and let us meet no more, for at this moment I feel my brain whirling, and I am trembling on the very verge of madness."
"Lilian, this is the 20th of September," said Walter.
"Cruel, cruel; do not speak of it," said she, wringing her hands. "For Heaven's sake leave me, and take back the pledge—the ring, for to retain it longer were a sin, and too long have I sinned in treasuring it as I have done."
Unlocking a cabinet, she drew from a secret drawer a ring to which a ribbon was attached, and offered it to Walter; but he never approached.