At the conclusion of the dance, her better feelings all predominating, she quitted Mark and rushed over to the place where Luke had been standing, but he was gone; with that unfeeling speech rankling in his heart, he had left. It was now her turn to be miserable; not all the soft speeches that were poured into her ear had power to console her, but her annoyance was at its height when Black Mark, presuming upon the encouragement which she had given him, seated himself beside her, and in ardent language declared himself her passionate lover. Poor, unthinking Kathleen, she had evoked a spirit which she had not power to quell.
It was more than a week after, before Luke could bring himself to venture near Kathleen; but finding that each succeeding day only made him still more wretched, he determined to know his fate at once, and with a sorely palpitating heart he neared her abode, lifted the latch, and entered; the first sight that met his eyes was Mark and Kathleen, sitting near to each other, the deep blush that crimsoned her to the very throat, evinced to Luke the interesting nature of their conversation. She could not speak, neither could he, but giving her one look which sank into her very brain, he left the place; in vain she called after him, he turned but once—a deep curse was on his lips but his noble heart refused to sanction it. "Farewell, beloved Kathleen," he cried, while bitter tears flowed fast as he spoke, "May the good God protect you now, for you will need it." And Luke rapidly strode towards the village, inly determining to go to sea on the morrow, and never look upon her or his loved home again.
Meanwhile, Kathleen, apprehensive that he would do something desperate, implored Mark to follow and bring him back. With a contemptuous sneer, he answered, "Do you think I'm a fool? No, no! Kathleen, you've gone too far with me to retract now. The world sees and knows our intimacy; the only barrier to our happiness was your foolish lover, Luke—he has taken the sulks, and gone away—our road is now clear. I love you better than a hundred such milk-sops as he could, so come—say the word!"
"That word," replied Kathleen, firmly, "shall never be said by me."
"Have a care, girl!" fiercely retorted Mark, "I'm not a man to be trifled with; you have led me to believe that you liked me, and you shall redeem the pledge your eyes at least have given."
"Never! Mark Dermot, never!" exclaimed Kathleen, rising from her seat; but with a fierce gesture, and a determined fire in his eye, Mark forced her down again, saying, in a clear, but terribly earnest manner: "Kathleen, from my youth up, I never allowed the slightest wish of my soul to be thwarted; think you that I shall submit to be led or driven, coaxed near, or sent adrift, at the caprice of any living thing?—no! if you can't be mine from love, you shall from fear; for," ratifying his threat by a fearful oath, "no obstacle shall exist between me and my desire."
"What mean you, Mark Dermot?" cried the terrified girl.
"No matter," he replied, "the choice rests with you. You cannot deny that your manner warranted me in soliciting your hand. Remember, love and hate dwell very near each other—the same heart contains them both. Be mine, and every wish of your soul shall be anticipated—refuse me, and tremble at the consequences."
"Heaven forgive, and help me," inly prayed Kathleen, as the result of her weak conduct now made itself so awfully apparent. Thinking to enlist some good feeling from Mark's generosity, she frankly acknowledged to him that her affections were entirely bestowed upon the absent Luke.
She knew not the demon-heart in which she had trusted; instead of inclining him to mercy, her words only inflamed him into tenfold rage.