“Maude, is there guilt, is there crime connected with this secret of yours?” he demanded, stepping before her.
She rose to her feet impetuously, her cheeks crimsoning, her large eyes filling and darkening with indignation, her noble brow expanded, her haughty little head erect.
“And you think me capable of crime, Lord Villiers?—of guilt that needs concealment?” she said, with proud scorn.
“You, Maude? No; sooner would I believe an angel from heaven guilty of crime, than you. But I thought there might be others involved. Oh, Lady Maude! must this secret, that involves the happiness of my whole life, remain hidden from me?”
The bright light had died out from the beautiful eyes of Lady Maude; and her tone was very sad, as she replied:
“Some day, my lord, I will tell you all; but not now. Let us part here, and let this subject never be renewed between us.”
“One word, Maude—do you love me?”
“I do! I do! Heaven forgive me!”
“Now, why, ‘Heaven forgive me?’ Maude! Maude! you will drive me mad! Is it such a crime to love me then?”
“In some it is,” she said, in her low, sad voice.