He broke off. Prudence answered swiftly, and the set of her face seemed to grow harder as she felt the difficulty of abiding by her resolve.
“This is no phantom of duty, George. It is very much a reality. I cannot marry you––until––until–––”
Iredale was smiling now. The shock of the girl’s strange decision had passed. He saw something of the motive underlying it. Her sense of duty seemed to have warped her judgment, and, with quiet firmness, he meant to set it aside.
“And this is the only reason for refusing me?” he asked. He had become serious again; he seemed merely to be seeking assurance.
“Yes. Oh, George, can’t you see how it is?” She 219 gazed appealingly into his face. And the man had to keep a very tight hold upon his feelings.
“I am afraid I am a little dense, child,” he said gravely.
“I must make you understand,” Prudence went on with nervous haste. Her conscience urged her forward, whilst her love prompted her to set aside all recollection of the dead and to bask in the love this man offered her. She was a simple, womanly soul, trying with all the strength of her honest purpose to resist the dictates of her love, and to do that which seemed right in her own eyes. The task she had set herself had seemed easy when she had spoken of it to Alice, but now in the face of this man’s love, in the face of her own self-realization, it seemed beyond her strength. “Listen to me, and you will see for yourself that I must not marry you––yet. I believed that I loved Leslie Grey truly, fondly. As I look back now I am sure I did. I was never happy but when I was with him. He seemed so strong and resolute. I never had a moment in which to doubt myself. Then, when he died, the agony I suffered was something too dreadful to contemplate. As he lay on the little bed with his life slowly ebbing, and I watched him dying by inches, I was filled with such horror and despair that I thought surely I should go mad. Then it dawned on me that he had been murdered, and my anguish turned to a dreadful feeling of rage and longing to avenge him. Never in my life did I experience such terrible passion as at that moment. I believe at the time I really was mad. The one thought in my mind was, ‘Who––who has done this thing?’ Then Leslie died, and in his death agony he spoke and 220 told me, as well as his poor gasping faculties could tell me, what had happened. His words were unintelligible to every one except me. And those words formed a clue to the assassin’s identity. By his bedside I swore to avenge him. Never would I rest until my oath was carried out. As you know, after that I became ill and went away. And, oh, the shame of it, during those months of rest and illness I forgot Leslie Grey, I forgot my vow. I forgot everything that claimed my duty. Think of it––the shame, the shallow heartlessness, the fickle nature which is mine. I, who had loved him as I believed no girl had ever loved, had forgotten him as though he had never come into my life.”
Iredale nodded comprehensively as the girl paused.
“Then you came into my life,” Prudence went on. Her face was turned towards the window now, outside of which she saw the tongues of lightning playing across the sky. “Time went on, and slowly something crept into my heart which made me realize my shortcomings. Gradually my conduct was revealed to me in its true colours, and I saw myself as I really was––a heartless, worthless creature, so despicable, even to myself, as to make me shudder when I contemplated the future. Let me be honest now, at least. I knew that I loved you, George, that is”––bitterly––“as far as I was capable of love; but what sort of affection was mine to give to anybody? I could not trust myself––I despised myself. My conscience cried out. Leslie’s unavenged death still remained. My vow was still unfulfilled. Knowing this, how could I believe in this new love which had come to me? No, I could not. And it was then that I saw what I must 221 do. Before I could ever dream of love I must redeem the pledge I made at Leslie’s deathbed. That alone could restore my faith in myself. I know that it is almost impossible to convey to you all that I have thought upon the matter; but, believe me, I can never marry while Leslie remains unavenged.”
Tears stood in the girl’s eyes as she finished up her curiously twisted self-accusations. And the sincerity of her words was not to be doubted for a moment. Iredale had listened wonderingly, and he marvelled to himself at the wonders of perspective in a woman’s mind.