"You have pronounced my doom, and I must submit. Oh! Constance—for I will venture to call you so for one moment—I did not think you could have so quickly changed!"
"My feelings towards you are unaltered," she rejoined. "But I am obliged to put a constraint upon them. We must forget what has passed."
"The attempt would be vain on my part," cried Atherton, bitterly. "Oh! Constance, if you knew the anguish I now endure you would pity me. But I will not seek to move your compassion—neither will I reproach you—though you have raised up my hopes only to crush them. Farewell!"
"Stay—one moment!" she cried. "I may never have an explanation with you——"
"I do not want an explanation," he rejoined. "I can easily understand why Father Jerome has given you this counsel. So long as a mystery attaches to my birth, he holds that I have no right to pretend to your hand. That is his opinion. That would be Sir Richard's opinion."
"No, it could not be my father's opinion," she cried.
"Why do you think so?" he exclaimed, eagerly.
She was hesitating as to the answer she should give him, when the priest reappeared. He was alone.
"You are impatient for my departure, sir," said Atherton. "But you need not be uneasy. Miss Rawcliffe has followed your advice. All is at an end between us."
With a farewell look at Constance, he then passed out.