“So,” he said, huskily, “we are quits. I am in your power, but you are equally in mine. Be careful how you interfere with me.”
We did not speak again together during the evening. What is to be the end of this? To-morrow I go to see Miss Courtland, and I have made up my mind to confess everything. Perhaps she will think no worse of me. The queen still loved Ruy Blas after she found he was a lackey.
What nonsense am I dreaming of?
February 23d.—The game is up. I went this afternoon to Mr. Courtland’s house, and found Miss Courtland at home, alone. She was in a dim little room, with the firelight nickering on her beautiful face. She saw that I was constrained and anxious, and at once asked me the reason. Something in her kind manner broke down my composure.
“Miss Courtland,” I said, “how would you feel if I were to confess that I have been deceiving you—that I am not what I seem to be?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, anxiously.
“Tell me first,” I said, “that whatever I tell you, you will still be my friend, and will believe me when I say that I have not wished to deceive you—that I have bitterly regretted it.”
She looked at me with a frank smile. “You may depend upon me.”
In a few words I told her everything from the time of my going to the Globe office up to that moment. She listened gravely; then she turned to me again with a smile.
“You have told me nothing dishonorable (although you can surely find something better to do), and I will still be your friend. I am glad you told me, for Mr. Morton said some things about you last night that made me fear—”