Then, changing his tone to one of wild entreaty, he proceeded:
‘Woman, have pity! I will do anything that you wish, if you will only keep our secret. It is not for my own sake that I ask this, but for the sake of one who is innocent, and who loves me. I have never injured you; I tried to do my duty by you; our union has been annulled over and over again by your infidelities. Have pity, for God’s sake, have pity!’
She saw that he was at her mercy, and, woman-like, proceeded to encroach.
‘Why did you preach at me from the pulpit?’ she demanded. ‘I am not a saint, but I am as good as most women. They say that, though you are a clergyman, you don’t even believe in God at all. Everyone is saying you are an atheist, and this church of yours, which you call sacred, is a wicked superior. Why should you? I am as good as you; perhaps better. You pass yourself off as a free man, because you are running after a rich woman; and you have taken money from her, everyone knows that. I think she ought to know the truth concerning you, to know that she can never be anything more than your mistress—never your wife. You say I am infamous. I think you are more infamous, to deceive a lady you pretend to love.’
She paused, and looked at him. He stood trembling like a leaf, white as death. Every word that she uttered went like a knife into his heart.
‘You are right,’ he murmured. ‘I should not have reproached you; for I have behaved like a villain. I should have told Miss Craik the whole truth.’
‘Just so; but you have left that disagreeable task to me!’
‘You will not tell her! No, no! It will break her heart.’
Mrs. Montmorency shrugged her shoulders.
‘Promise me at least one thing,’ he cried. ‘Give me time to think how to act. Keep our secret until I see you again.’