For he had risen suddenly and caught her in his arms, looking steadily down into her dark eyes, with a gaze she would not meet. Whilst he held her, whilst he looked at her, he was her master, and he knew it.
"Charley, let me go!" she pleaded. "If any one came in; the servants, or—or—Sir Victor."
He laughed contemptuously, and held her still.
"Yes, Edith; suppose Sir Victor came in and saw his bride-elect with a sacrilegious arm about her waist? Suppose I told him the truth—that you are mine, not his: mine by the love that alone makes marriage holy; his for his title and his rent-roll—bought and sold. By Heaven! I half wish he would!"
Was this Charley—Charley Stuart?
She caught her breath—her pride and her insolence dropping from her—only a girl in the grasp of the man she loves. In that moment, if he had willed it, he could have made her forego her plight, and pledge herself to be his wholly, and he knew it.
"Edith," he said, "as I stand and look at you, in your beauty and your selfishness, I hardly know whether I love or despise you most. I could make you marry me—make you, mind—but you are not worth it. Go!" He opened his arms contemptuously and released her. "You'll not be a bad wife for Sir Victor, I dare say, as fashionable wives go. You'll be that ornament of society, a married flirt, but you'll never run away with his dearest friend, and make a case for the D. C. 'All for love and the world well lost,' is no motto of yours, my handsome cousin. A week ago I envied Sir Victor with all my heart—to-day I pity him with all my soul!"
He turned to go, for once in his life, thoroughly aroused, passionate love; passionate rage at war within him. She had sunk back upon the sofa, her face hidden in her hands, humbled, as in all her proud life she had never been humbled before. Her silence, her humility touched him. He heard a stifled sob, and all his hot anger died out in pained remorse.
"Oh, forgive me, Edith!" he said, "forgive me. It may be cruel, but I had to speak. It is the first, it will be the last time. I am selfish, too, or I would never have pained you—better never hear the truth than that the hearing should make you miserable. Don't cry, Edith; I can't bear it. Forgive me, my cousin—they are the last tears I will ever make you shed."
The words he meant to soothe her, hurt more deeply than the words he meant to wound. "They are the last tears I will ever make you shed!" An eternal farewell was in the words. She heard the door open, heard it close, and knew that her love and her life had parted in that instant forever.