"Hugh--I--I--have always loved Oliver Marsham--and I--cannot think of any one else. You know what has happened?"
He saw the sob swelling in her white throat.
"Yes!" he said, passionately. "It is horrible. But you cannot go to him--you cannot marry him. He was a coward when he should have stood by you. He cannot claim you now."
She withdrew her hands.
"No!" The passion in her voice matched his own. "But I would give the world if he could--and would!"
There was a pause. Steadily the woman gained upon her own weakness and beat it down. She resumed:
"I must tell you--because--it is the only way--for us two--to be real friends again--and I want a friend so much. The news of Oliver is--is terrible. The Vicar had just seen Mr. Lankester--who is staying there. He is nearly blind--and the pain!" Her hand clinched--she threw her head back. "Oh! I can't speak of it! And it may go on for years. The doctors seem to be all at sea. They say he ought to recover--but they doubt whether he will. He has lost all heart--and hope--he can't help himself. He lies there like a log all day--despairing. And, please--what am I doing here?" She turned upon him impetuously, her cheeks flaming. "They want help--there is no one. Mrs. Fotheringham hardly ever comes. They think Lady Lucy is in a critical state of health too. She won't admit it--she does everything as usual. But she is very frail and ill, and it depresses Oliver. And I am here!--useless--and helpless. Oh, why can't I go?--why can't I go?" She laid her face upon her arms, on the bench, hiding it from him; but he saw the convulsion of her whole frame.
Beside a passion so absolute and so piteous he felt, his own claim shrink into nothingness--impossible, even, to give it voice again. He straightened himself in silence; with an effort of the whole man, the lover put on the friend.
"But you can go," he said, a little hoarsely, "if you feel like that."
She raised herself suddenly.