His chest was beginning to heave with emotion.
"I have a great mind to run away, and leave you to fancy you are going to be tied to me after all! Pray calm yourself. Oh! Travice, why did you not tell me the truth—that you had no shadow of liking for me; that your love for another was stronger than death? I should have been a little mortified at first, but not for long. It is not your fault; you did all you could; and it has nearly killed you——"
"Who has been telling you this?" he interrupted.
"Never mind. Perhaps somebody, perhaps nobody. It's the town's talk, and that's enough. Do you think I could be so wicked and selfish a woman as to hold you to your engagement, knowing this? No! Never shall it be said of Barbara Fauntleroy, in this or in aught else, that she secured her own happiness at the expense of anybody else's."
"But Barbara——"
"Don't 'Barbara' me, but listen," she interrupted playfully, laying her finger on his lips. "At present you hate me, and I don't say that your heart may not have cause; but I want to turn that hatred into love. If I can't get it as a wife, Travice, I may as a friend. I like you very much, and I can't afford to lose you quite. Heaven knows in what way I might have lost you, had we been married; or what would have been the ending."
He lay looking at her, not altogether comprehending the words, in his weakness.
"You shall marry Lucy as soon as you are strong enough; and a little bird has whispered me a secret that I fancy you don't know yet—that you'll have plenty and plenty of money, more than I should have brought you. We'll have a jolly wedding; and I'll be bridesmaid, if she'll let me."
Barbara had talked till her eyes were running down with tears. His lashes began to glisten.
"I couldn't do it, Barbara," he whispered; "I couldn't do it."