Ah, but for the strength which Florence had sought from above, where would she have been then. For a moment her heart did turn traitor; for one single instant there came upon her cheek a crimson flush, and in her eyes something that made Jameson's heart leap with exultation; but it passed away, Florence broke from the arms that were cast around her, and drew back toward the door.
"Leave me!" she said, mildly, but with firmness, "I am not your wife—will never be!"
"You hate me, then!" exclaimed Jameson, goaded by her manner. "You still believe what my enemies say against me."
"No, I hate no one—I could not hate you!"
"But you love me no longer."
Florence turned very pale, but still she was firm. "It matters nothing if I love or hate now," she said, "henceforth, forever and forever, you and I are strangers. If you have come here in hopes of taking me from my father, go before he learns any thing of your visit; a longer stay can only bring evil."
Again Jameson cast himself at her feet; again his masterly eloquence was put forth to melt, to subdue, even to over-awe that fair girl; but all that he could wring from her was bitter tears—all that he accomplished was a renewal of anguish that prayer had hardly conquered.
"And you will not go! You cast me off forever!" he exclaimed, starting up with a fierce gesture and an expression of the eye that made her shrink back.
"I cannot go—I will not go!" she said, in a low voice. "You have already taught me how terrible a thing is remorse. Leave me in peace, if you would not see me die!"
"And this is your final answer!" cried Jameson, and his eyes flashed with fury.