“Yes, I am afraid,� cried Sylvia desperately; “I am afraid for you.� She paused suddenly. In her nervousness and tremor and agitation she scarcely knew what she was saying; the roar of the rattling thunder almost drowned her voice; it died in her throat, and her heart fluttered wildly as Skelton suddenly seized her hand.
“Are you afraid for me, dear Sylvia?� he asked.
Something compelling in Skelton’s gaze forced Sylvia to raise her eyes to his, which were blacker, more lustrous, than she had ever seen them. She made no answer, but her own eyes shone with a deep, green light that was enchanting. All at once the whole world outside of Skelton seemed to slip out of sight. But Skelton felt the most delicious ease and sense of reality. That one glance revealed her whole soul to him. Here was one creature who could love him; here was that soft, human fondness of which he had known but little in his life; and he knew well enough that way lay happiness. He cast prudence and forethought and finesse to the winds. The inevitable hour had come to him as to other men. He drew her close to him, and took the great wet hat off her head and kissed her passionately a dozen times, saying some incoherent words, which nevertheless both he and Sylvia understood well enough. All at once an ineffable tenderness had possessed him; life took on another hue. The beauty of the present hour might be fleeting, but at least it was well to have known it even for a moment.
The lightning continued to flash constantly in the large, dark hall, and the reverberation of the thunder was deafening, but it no longer had the power to alarm Sylvia; it is true it excited her and increased the tremor of her nerves, and made her quite unconsciously cling closely to Skelton, but it seemed to her as if they were together under the most beautiful sky and in the serenest air.
Presently thought returned to Skelton. Sylvia was now in the mood in which she could refuse him nothing; she had acknowledged that she loved him; now was the time to speak for Lewis, for the one passion had by no means swallowed up the other.
“Sylvia,� said he in his most eloquent tones, and looking at her with his soul in his eyes, “could you forgive much in the past life of the man you loved? Think well before you answer, because some women who love much cannot forgive anything.�
Sylvia turned very pale; she knew well enough what he meant; she knew he was making a plea for Lewis Pryor.
“Yes,� she said, after a tremulous pause, “I could forgive much in the past. What is past is no injury to me; but I don’t think I could be forgiving for any injury to me.�
She had withdrawn a little from him, and her last words were spoken quite firmly and clearly and with unflinching eyes. Sylvia had a spirit of her own, and that was a time for plain speaking. She did not lose in Skelton’s esteem by her boldness.
“Then we are agreed,� answered Skelton with equal boldness; “for I shall have no forgiveness to ask in the future. I shall have to ask forgiveness for something in the past—something I cannot tell you now. I will write it to you. But I will say this: I believe you to be the most magnanimous woman in the world, and for that, partly, I love you.�