"Since I was a little girl. I had not seen him for a good many years until I saw him here at Chandos, and I was afraid to speak of him—afraid also that he would recognise me."
"He says he can claim you. Is that an idle boast?"
"I don't know; I don't understand English laws. Perhaps he might, but I would a great deal rather die."
The tears were falling down my face, lifted to his in its yearning for pity and forgiveness. Mr. Chandos bent towards me, a strange look of tenderness in his earnest eyes. I think he was going to lay his kind hand on my shoulder to assure me of his care, when at that moment some one passed the window, whom I took to be Edwin Barley. It was but the gardener—as I learned later—he had put on his coat to go home; a short, dark man walking past, and the dusk was deceptive. I thought Edwin Barley had come to take me there and then.
For the minute I was certainly not in my proper senses: terror alone reigned. I laid hold of Mr. Chandos in hysterical excitement, clinging to him as one clings for dear life.
"Oh, keep me, keep me! Do not let him take me! Mr. Chandos! Mr. Chandos! I know you are angry with me and despise me; but do not give me up to him!"
Before I had done speaking he had me in his arms, holding me closely to his breast. We stood there in the shade of the dark room, heart beating wildly against heart.
"I wish I could give myself the right to keep you from him, and from every other ill," he breathed. "Do you know, Anne, that I love you above all else in the world?"
I—I made no answer, save that I did turn my face a little bit towards his; but I should have liked to remain where I was for ever.
"But, my darling, it can only end here as it has begun; for I cannot marry. My brother, Sir Thomas, does not marry."