“My sister! God forgive me, she is my sister; but I do not love her as such,” Earle groaned, as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
This was music to Sumner Dalton’s ears, but he knew it would not do to trespass too far; so, rising, he said, with the most consummate coolness:
“Since it would not sound well for a man in your position to allow his father to suffer for the necessaries of life, I will consent to accept your offer of that ten thousand, and you can make it over to me with as little delay as possible. And now I will bid you good-morning, leaving you and your sister to talk over your future prospects and comfort one another as best you can.”
With a low, echoing, mocking laugh, he left the room and those two wretched young people were alone.
In the exceeding bitterness of his soul Earle again dropped his head upon the table, and a long, long silence ensued.
Editha lay perfectly still upon the sofa.
At last Earle arose and went and knelt down beside her.
“Editha!” he said; and it is not possible to convey any idea of the pain crowded into the one word.
Only a low moan answered him.
“Editha,” he said again, almost wildly, “I would have saved you from this had it been possible.”