Instead of replying indignantly to her excited words, Rowton gave Nancy a long, attentive and very searching glance.
“When did your father die?” he asked at last.
“Towards morning. He had gone through a terrible night, but towards morning he dozed off and the nurse who was with him said he passed away in his sleep. He looked quite peaceful in the end; I think he trusted me fully.”
“With his secret?” said Rowton.
“Yes,” replied Nancy, “with his secret.”
“And you think,” continued the young man, again favouring her with a queer glance, “that because you have a secret, you and I are to part?”
“Yes; I can be no fit wife for you—it breaks my heart to have to say it. I love you more than I have any words to express, but I have got a dreadful thing to do, Adrian, and I can be no fit wife for any man until it is accomplished.”
“You think so now, of course,” said Rowton, “but by-and-by you will change your mind. You forget that you are young. Whatever burden your father has laid upon you he cannot crush your youth. I am also young. Dark things have happened in my life, but do you think they have crushed the youth out of me? Assuredly not, at least they have not when I look at you. I am here and you are my wild bird. I have lured you into my cage, and you are never going out again, Nancy, so you need not think it.”
As he spoke Rowton clasped her again in his arms; he pressed her close to him and kissed her on her brow and lips.
“Ah!” he said, “you cease to struggle; you are content with your cage.”