“Ah!” she cried wistfully, “if you only could! If you only could, then I should commence a new life and be happy! The awful suspense is killing me.”
“Suspense of what?”
She was silent for a moment.
“I fear his threats,” she faltered. “I know he would have no compunction whatever in causing my ruin when I am no longer of further use to him.”
“Now, tell me plainly and honestly, Edith,” I asked, looking straight into her white, anxious face. “Do you love him?”
“Love him!” she echoed wildly. “Why, I hate him! Have I not already told you so?”
“But he loves you.”
“Of that I am not certain. If he does, it is through no fault whatever of mine. I detest and hate him!”
“Will you not tell me how he managed to obtain this irresistible power over you? Can you not help me in my search for the truth?”
“I must not speak; I dare not, Gerald,” she answered in a hoarse whisper, as though the very thought of exposure filled her with alarm.