He rose to his feet with a look of received injury, which even then touched Emily, and made her hesitate in her verdict. But at that moment Harrington left his chair, and came toward him with tears flowing from his eyes. Witherlee cowered at the sight of this solemn and compassionate emotion, and his head fell. In that moment he remembered the hard and cruel insult he had so lately flung upon the man before him, and he trembled in an agony of shame.
“Fernando,” said Harrington, calmly and tenderly, “I pity you from the bottom of my heart. I could almost die with pity for you. Do not, I beg of you, do not degrade your soul by persisting in what you know to be falsehoods. You know you are not telling Emily the truth now, and you know there is not a word of truth in all you have told her.”
“I do not see what right you have to say that, Harrington,” faltered Witherlee.
“Fernando!” exclaimed Harrington, solemnly, “Alas, alas! you poor fellow, I do not blame you! there is some virtue still in this forlorn attempt to clothe the nakedness of your falsehood in the semblance of truth. But it is useless, and it only does your nature a more grievous harm. Do you not see that you have already confessed all? You have admitted that you knew it was Emily and Wentworth you saw together. You knew, therefore, that they were lovers. How can you say then, that in your conversation with Emily that very evening, you did not know of their feeling for each other? How can you say that you did not know your terrible dispraise of Wentworth, so artfully clothed in praise, would shock and grieve the woman who loved him? How can you say you did not know your story of Susan Hollingsworth would throw its shadow on the thoughts with which you had filled Emily? How can you say you thought your aggravating word a week later over the violets, was harmless? Ah, Fernando! how could you so coldly and cruelly drop this subtle poison into the hearts of two lovers? You gave Richard and Emily hours of terrible suffering. You nearly alienated them from each other—you almost murdered their love. How could you do it? You knew they loved each other—you knew I loved Muriel; and yet you wantonly saddened my heart by virtually telling me that Wentworth and Muriel were betrothed. At the same time when you knew that Emily loved Wentworth, you gave Captain Fisher to understand that she was engaged to me. Fernando, you are entirely discovered. Your talk with Bagasse is just as transparent, and just as disgraceful to your better nature, as all the rest. Alas, alas! I can only pity you!”
The deep voice was gentle, and tears still flowed from the calm eyes. Emily sat with her handkerchief to her face, touched by the majestic sorrow of Harrington into compassion, and weeping silently. Muriel had covered her eyes with her hand. Wentworth stood with folded arms, his face pale, and fixed on Witherlee. Witherlee, completely unmasked even to himself, stood with bowed head, livid and trembling, and there was a long pause.
“Harrington,” faltered the poor rogue, in a weak, querulous voice, “I am very sorry—I am indeed. I know I’ve done wrong—very wrong, and I’m sorry. I feel very miserable. I haven’t a friend in the world now, and I know I don’t deserve to have. But I hope you’ll forgive me, Harrington, though I did you harm. I didn’t quite mean”—
His faltering voice broke, and apparently unconscious of any but the presence of the young man before him, he sunk his head a little lower, and stood trembling.
“Forgive you!” exclaimed Harrington, in a voice so sudden and sonorous that Witherlee started, and fell a pace away. “Fernando, give me your hand!”
Tremblingly, as Harrington strode straight up to him, with a frank outstretched arm, Witherlee put his nerveless hand in his, looked up for an instant into the masculine and noble face, dropped his head and burst into tears.
A surge of emotion overswept them all, and for a minute there was no sound but the thick sobs of Witherlee.