"But you know you ought not to say this to me, Mr. Chandos!" I interrupted, speaking passionately and through my blinding tears. "It is unworthy of you. What have I done that you should so insult me?"
"Listen to me for a minute, Anne. I have been weighing things calmly and dispassionately; it has been my employment since the night of the explanation, when you told me you had become cognizant of preventing circumstances. I have endeavoured to judge unselfishly, as though the interest lay with another—not with myself; and I confess I cannot see any good reason why you should not become my wife. I mean, of course, later; when difficulties that exist now shall be removed from my path."
It was strangely unaccountable to hear him speak in this manner. I had always deemed him to be of a most honourable nature, one to whom the bare allusion of anything not good and perfect and upright, would be distasteful. Before I knew of existing circumstances, it had been bad enough to speak to me of love; but now——
Whether he had taken my silence for acquiescence I know not; I suppose there can be no doubt of it; but he suddenly bent his head and left some kisses on my face. Was he insane, or only a bad man?
"I could not help it," he hastily murmured in agitation. "I know it is wrong and foolish, but a man has not always his actions under cold control. Forgive me Anne! Stay here to gladden me: and hope, with me, that things will work round. I should not bid you do so without good reason."
A variety of emotions nearly choked me. His words told upon me worse than his kisses. How could things work round so that he might be free, save by one event, the death of his wife?—and she was young and healthy! How dared he during this, her life, urge me to remain there to gladden him? But for the strongest control, I should have burst into hysterical tears born of indignation and of excitement; and little recked what I said in my passion, as I wrenched my arm away from him.
"Things work round, Mr. Chandos! Are your thoughts glancing to a second murder?"
I borrowed the word from Mrs. Penn's mysterious communication—winch I had not believed. It was very bad of me to say it; I know that; but when in a passion of confusion one does not wait to choose words.
"Anne, you might have spared me that reproach," he rejoined, in a subdued tone of pain.
"How have you spared me?"