Geraldine writhed at his feet like a worm trodden upon; and her groans of distress and her smothered moans were the heartrending accompaniment of his melancholy words.
“But that is now all over!” cried Henry Howard; and his face, which was before convulsed with grief and agony, now glowed again with wrath. “You have poisoned my life and my death; and I shall curse you for it, and my last word will be a malediction on the harlequin Geraldine!”
“Have pity!” groaned Jane. “Kill me, Henry; stamp my head beneath your feet; only let this torture end!”
“Nay, no pity!” yelled he, wildly; “no pity for this impostor, who has stolen my heart and crept like a thief into my love! Arise, and leave this room; for you fill me with horror; and when I behold you, I feel only that I must curse you! Ay, a curse on you and shame, Geraldine! Curse on the kisses that I have impressed on your lips—on the tears of rapture that I have wept on your bosom. When I ascend the scaffold, I will curse you, and my last words shall be: ‘Woe to Geraldine!—for she is my murderess!’”
He stood there before her with arm raised on high, proud and great in his wrath. She felt the destroying lightning of his eyes, though she durst not look up at him, but lay at his feet moaning and convulsed, and concealing her face in her veil, as she shuddered at her own picture.
“And this be my last word to you Geraldine,” said Henry Howard, panting for breath: “Go hence under the burden of my curse, and live—if you can!”
She unveiled her head, and raised her countenance toward him. A contemptuous smile writhed about her deathly pale lips. “Live!” said she. “Have we not sworn to die with each other? Your curse does not release me from my oath, and when you descend into the grave, Jane Douglas will stand upon its brink, to wail and weep until you make a little place for her there below; until she has softened your heart and you take her again, as your Geraldine, into your grave. Oh, Henry! in the grave, I no longer wear the face of Jane Douglas—that hated face, which I would tear with my nails. In the grave, I am Geraldine again. There I may again lie close to your heart, and again you will say to me: ‘I love not your face and your external form! I love you yourself; I love your heart and mind; and that can never change; and can never be otherwise!’”
“Silence!” said he, roughly; “silence, if you do not want me to run mad! Cast not my own words in my face. They defile me, for falsehood has desecrated and trodden them in the mire. No! I will not make room for you in my grave. I will not again call you Geraldine. You are Jane Douglas, and I hate you, and I hurl my curse upon your criminal head! I tell you—”
He suddenly paused, and a slight convulsion ran through his whole frame.
Jane Douglas uttered a piercing scream, and sprang from her knees.