“You would have me give up all for you?” she asked with a shudder.
“Ay, from your husband—from the world! We will go where none can ever find us. If you refuse, I cannot aid you.”
“Pity me!”
She sank upon her knees at his feet.
“I give you a week to think it over. I can love, but cannot pity.”
In vain the girl sought to throw off the numbing influence of the man’s presence. In desperation she tried to defy him, but she knew that she had lost her will-power and was but a puppet in the hands of this false friend.
CHAPTER IX.
“The Doctor is so good to you about letters; so different from poor Charlie. I can’t imagine what he finds to write about.”
It was the first of August, and the last guest had left the mansion; tomorrow they started for Bar Harbor. Molly, Dianthe and Livingston sat together in the morning room.
“He tells me the incidents of the journey. This is the last letter for three months,” said Dianthe, with a sigh.