"Oppressor," supplied Ellen, finishing his sentence. "And are you sunk so low, Edward L'Estrange, as to be the oppressor of her you once said you loved? Have I lived to see one I ever thought worthy of the name of Briton stoop to be a woman's oppressor? You are under a cloud; you are not yourself; you have been led away by wicked men! Show yourself what once you were,—too high, too proud to crush one whom those bolder in guilt and vice have hunted down; in your very sins be a man, and not a base tool!"
"Oh! do not speak thus! you will kill me! Hear me, Ellen! Love me once more. It is my passion for you led me to do all this. Only say you will love me, and remember all this as a dream—as a horrid dream."
"Whatever I might once have done, your conduct has totally broken the last bond even of friendship. Love you, Edward L'Estrange? You cannot know what love is. It is a passion, in pureness and height as far above your base ideas as the frame you bear, but disgrace by your deeds, is above the meaner brutes, whose passions you seem to emulate. I may forgive you if you will restore me to my home and those I love; I may hold you guiltless of this abduction and insult; but love you—oh, never! how could you even dream of it?"
"You forget, proud maiden, where, and in whose hands you are; last time it was in your power to crush me, and you used it; this time you are my captive, and I will make my own terms. Terms, said I? I will not even make terms. You are mine. You are in my power. You shall—you must—be my wife."
"Edward L'Estrange, by all the memory of better days, I beseech you pause ere you do this dastard action! I will not think so darkly of you as to suppose you are capable of doing what you threaten. I throw myself on your honour. If there is one spark remaining in your breast,—if all that is good, all that is brave, all that is virtuous has not wholly died away,—if there is only a glimmer lingering after all that, like the sun, has set,—wrong me not! There is no glory in overpowering a weak woman; there is nothing brave, nothing soldierly in it; it is but a mean action to overcome those who are weaker. Man was formed to protect woman, not to injure her. Oh! be yourself again. I appeal to your honour! Oh! hear me!"
"My honour is gone; I am void of all that is good; in one only thing I am still human,—in love to thee!"
"Degenerate man! and can you speak your shame? Have you nothing left? Oh! your words belie your heart; it is not so black as you have painted it. Throw down the idol that has usurped its throne; root out the weeds that rankle there,—burn out the plague spot!"
"Ellen," replied the wretched man, in a hollow tone, "I am sold to the Evil One; all that is good is departed from me; all that is evil lives and dwells in me. But why do I delay? You must, you shall be my wife! refuse me no longer; I have sworn it; you are my prisoner; appeal not to my mercy,—it is gone! Appeal not to my honour,—I have none! I have no pity. I glory in my shame. I will force you to be my wife; there is a priest below, he will join our hands; refuse me no more! I am settled, fixed, steeled for the worst."
"A mock priest, like your officers! Oh! degraded, wretched young man, if nothing holy, nothing divine moves you, see if earthly threats will avail. I tell you, L'Estrange, you stand on a mine,—you totter on a volcano; it will burst, and hurl your soul and body to the hell to which you have sold yourself! You do not dare touch me; you dread the Earl's power too much. You speak proudly,—you are not able to perform!"
"Am I not? You are alone; you are far from all, save those who are darker than me, and more wicked. I will have the ceremony read, and then you are mine! Nothing can sever us. Ha!—how like you that?"