"There is nothing to make a jest of, Victor. It is better you should not marry—better the name of Catheron should die out and be blotted from the face of the earth."
"Lady Helena!"
"I know what I am saying, Victor. You would say it too, perhaps, if you knew all."
"You will tell me all. Oh yes, you will. You have said too much or too little, now. I must hear 'all,' then I shall judge for myself. I may be in love—still I am amenable to reason. If you can show me any just cause or impediment to my marriage—if you can convince me it will be wrong in the sight of Heaven or man, then, dearly as I love her, I will give her up. But your proof must be strong indeed."
She looked at him doubtfully—wistfully.
"Would you do this, Victor? Would you have strength to give up the girl you love? My boy, my son, I don't want to be hard on you. I want to see you happy, Heaven knows, and yet—"
"I will be happy—only tell me the truth and let me judge for myself."
He was smiling—he was incredulous. Lady Helena's mountain, seen by his eyes, no doubt, would turn out the veriest molehill.
"I don't know what to do," she answered, in agitated tones. "I promised her to tell you if this day ever came, and now it is here and I—oh!" she cried out passionately, "I can't tell you!"
He grew pale himself, with fear of he knew not what.