“Not a word more, my dear madam, I beg—I insist,” said Mr. Hervey in a commanding tone; but, for the first time in her life, regardless of him, she persisted.
“I only ask you to call to mind, my dearest Virginia,” said she, taking her hand, “the morning that you screamed in your sleep, the morning when you told me the frightful dream—were you perfectly happy then?”
“It is easy to force my thoughts from me,” said Virginia, withdrawing her hand from Mrs. Ormond; “but it is cruel to do so.” And with an air of offended dignity she passed them, and quitted the room.
“I wish to Heaven!” exclaimed Mrs. Ormond, “that Miss Portman was married, and out of the way—I shall never forgive myself! We have used this poor girl cruelly amongst us: she loves you to distraction, and I have encouraged her passion, and I have betrayed her—oh, fool that I was! I told her that she would certainly be your wife.”
“You have told her so!—Did I not charge you, Mrs. Ormond——”
“Yes; but I could not help it, when I saw the sweet girl fading away—and, besides, I am sure she thought it, from your manner, long and long before I told it to her. Do you forget how fond of her you were scarce one short year ago? And do you forget how plainly you let her see your passion? Oh, how can you blame her, if she loves you, and if she is unhappy?”
“I blame no one but myself,” cried Clarence; “I must abide by the consequences of my own folly. Unhappy!—she shall not be unhappy; she does not deserve to be so.”
He walked backward and forward, with hasty steps, for some minutes; then sat down and wrote a letter to Virginia.
When he had finished it, he put it into Mrs. Ormond’s hands.
“Read it—seal it—give it to her—and let her answer be sent to town to me, at Dr. X.‘s, in Clifford-street.”