Mortimer stepped into the hall. The servant threw open the door announcing his name, and Mortimer was in the presence of Adeline.
The meeting was too sudden for preliminary forms and courtesies. There was no time for preparation. The blow was struck, and a thousand idle inquiries were perhaps saved; but Adeline, after one short gaze of astonishment and dismay, covered her face; a low groan escaped her, and she threw herself convulsively on the chair.
Mortimer hastened to her relief, but she shrank from his touch. She spoke not; her anguish was beyond utterance.
"Adeline!"
She shuddered as though the sound once more awakened the slumbering echoes of memory.
"Leave me, Mortimer," she cried. "I must not"——
"Leave thee!" it was repeated in a tone that no words can describe. Inquiry, apprehension, were depicted in his look as if existence hung on a word; while a pause followed, compared with which the rack were a bed of roses. The silence was too harrowing to sustain.
"And why? I know it all now," cried the unhappy Mortimer; and the broad impress of despair was upon his brow, legibly, indelibly written.
"I am here to redeem my pledge; and thou! O Adeline! Why—why? Say how is my trust requited? Were long years too, too long, to await my return? I have not had a thought thou hast not shared. And yet thou dost withhold thy troth!"
"It is plighted!"