"And so you believe this island-girl rather than me. Be it so, Sibyl; if you have no more faith in me than this, it is better that we never see each other more," he said, in a deeply offended tone.
"And do you tell me, really and truly, that you never wavered in your allegiance to me—never for a moment thought of any one else—never for one second gave another the place in your heart I should have occupied—never was false to your vows, to your honor, to me?"
"Never, Sibyl!"
"Swear it!"
"I swear!"
"Oh, which am I to believe? Oh, Willard, if you are deceiving me now, may Heaven's worst vengeance fall upon you! Do not, on your soul's peril, dare to speak falsely to me; for it were better for you to trifle with the lightning's chain than with this aroused heart.'
"Still doubting! have you lost all faith in me, Sibyl?" he asked, reproachfully.
"Would to heaven I had never had occasion to doubt! But your own actions are all against you. Why did you so continually seek her society while on the island? How are your long rambles together, your moonlight sails, your solitary interviews to be explained?"
"Very easily. Your brother left me; you were absent, and I was alone on the island, and society is a necessity of my nature. You would not have me spend the day with your old negress or her son; Mrs. Tom or her nephew. The child, Christie, was bright, intelligent, and sociable; she pleased and interested me, and in my walks through the island we frequently met. I was fond of sailing; so was she; and what so natural as that I should sometimes ask her to accompany me?"
"Plausible! But why did you not seek me? I was not far distant from you, a good part of the time, and would have been more than delighted to see you every day."