Again he took several turns across the room before he could bring out his proposition; but at length he stopped, and recommenced speaking.
“Helen,” he said, “you are unmarried.”
Had he struck her a blow upon the temple, it would have had less effect. She staggered and clung o the table.
“You are ill,” he said, hastily.
“No,” she answered, in a hollow tone, “proceed.”
“So far as I know,” he said, “you have had no offer for your hand—no suitor, who has distinctly proposed; many intimations, I know, have been made, but I have always turned a cold face upon them; for I would elevate you in rank and surround you with wealth. Such a chance offers itself for your acceptance now.”
She uttered a faint cry, and recoiled from him.
“Helen,” he said, sternly, “it is for you to repair the past, and the opportunity is within your grasp—beware how you fling it away.”
She tried to speak, but her voice failed her.
“You must not, and shall not now interpose your will between mine and a most important object I have in view,” he cried, sternly. “Listen—it is necessary that you should marry——”