"Well," he cried, "and if they were, pray, what of that?"
"If—if" she cried, returning his gaze unshrinkingly, "then—then your brother, Eugene, should not now—never should have been a banished exile from his home and heritage. They have wronged him basely, who ever, on the plea of madness, deprived such a man of honour, hope and happiness. Farewell indeed, Eugene, if this could be the case. Farewell, at least, till you have repaired your grievous error, and restored Eustace Trevor to all which has been wrongfully, deceitfully taken from him."
She turned away, but Eugene Trevor seized her hand.
"Stop, Mary," he said in a low voice of subdued and concentrated rage. "Stop, if you please, and hear me. You may remember, you said, a little time ago, farewell, if I did not reveal to you all you desired to know. I have told you nothing yet, though you seem indeed too ready to conclude every thing of the blackest and most preposterous description against me. But although you are so eager for any excuse to rid yourself of me, for ever; though the heart you once swore would scarcely have been torn from me, were I proved to be the greatest villain upon earth, has shown itself a very woman's in its weakness, its feebleness, its inconstancy. Yes, Mary, villain as you may wish to consider me, I preserve at least the virtue of constancy. I love you as much as ever, Mary. I will not give you up. What," he exclaimed, fixing his eyes upon her pale and startled countenance, and advancing towards her as she sunk down upon a sofa, "do you own yourself, false and faithless, enough to wish that I should do so? Do you now love this Eustace, this Temple, whatever he may please to call himself?"
"Eugene!" gasped Mary's blanched lips.
"Answer me, Mary, or rather prove it. I see indeed that our marriage has been deferred too long; promise me, swear, that it shall take place secretly; there is nothing now that should impede it. I can manage my father now, that that woman will be out of the way. You know, Mary—you cannot wonder that I should have considered her presence as an objection to your entrance into my father's house; the obstacle will now be removed."
But Mary shrank back with shuddering repugnance at the suggestion thus presented to her delicate imagination. She invited to take the place of Mabel Marryott—she to have room made for her within her lover's home, by the removal of such a being.
"Mary, you are not—you cannot own yourself so faithless and so false as to love that other man."
"No—Eugene—no. What right have you to entertain such a suspicion? but you—you have not told me what I required."
"But I will tell you, Mary—I will tell you everything. I will redeem—I will atone for all that I may have done—I will lay my fate in your hands—I will yield my future conduct, my every action, to your guidance and direction. As your husband, I shall be content to give up all, whatsoever your wishes may cost me. But I will wait no longer; say you will be my wife, Mary: and I swear to fulfil whatever you may impose upon me."