"I grieve to see you so much worse. Drink this, it may relieve you," she said, slipping her hand under his pillow to raise his head. Ida sprang forward to arrest the movement. He was suffering excruciating pain in his neck; and frantic at its augmentation by this change of position, he dashed the cup to the floor, with a shocking oath.
"You want to kill me! I've seen that for a long time; and then you can flaunt to your heart's content. You can marry whom you please, and make him rich with my money, like the shameless wretch you are!" he yelled, distractedly.
The smothered fire leaped high—the dark eye blazed with wrath, but she uttered not a sound, as she turned from him. Ida had never seen such a look in mortal face, and wild with fear of, she know not what, darted after her, and overtook her in the dressing-room.
"Oh! do not! do not!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around the stately form.
"Do not what?" said the lady, trying to unlock her fingers. Ida held her fast.
"Oh! the horrible thing that is in your thoughts! He is mad with pain—he did not mean—did not think what he did. He says as hard things to me, to every one—but he loves you! he does love you!" and dropping her head upon the lady's breast, she sobbed like a child. The haughty woman stood irresolute—passive in the tenacious grasp of the over-excited girl.
"He drove me from him—struck me!" she said, in thick accents. "Why should I stay?"
It was rather a soliloquy than a question, and Ida reiterated, "He did not mean it! he loves you!"
"Do you love him?" inquired the lady, lifting her face, and gazing piercingly into it.
"I pity him," said Ida.