“The truth, my child. You know too well that, for you, love and marriage are forbidden,” he exclaimed, looking at her meaningly.
She sighed, and her tiny hand trembled within my grasp. Her mouth trembled, and I saw that tears were welling in her eyes.
“Ah! yes,” she cried hoarsely a moment later. “I know, alas! that I am not like other women. About me there have been forged bonds of steel—bonds which I can never break.”
“Only by one means,” interrupted Shuttleworth, terribly calm and composed.
“No, no!” she protested quickly, covering her face with her hands as though in shame. “Not that—never that! Do not let us speak of it!”
“Then you have no right to accept this man’s love,” he said reproachfully, “no right to allow him to approach nearer the brink of the grave than he has done. You know full well that, for him, your love must prove fatal!”
She hung her head as though not daring to look again into my eyes. The strange clergyman’s stern rebuke had utterly confused and confounded her. Yet I knew she loved me dearly. That sweet, intense love-look of hers an hour ago could never be feigned. It spoke far more truly than mere words.
Perhaps she was annoyed that I had told Shuttleworth the truth. Yes, I had acted very foolishly. My tongue had loosened involuntarily. My wild joy had led me into an injudicious confession—one that I had never dreamed would be fraught with sorrow.
“Mr. Shuttleworth,” I said at last, “please do not distress yourself on my account. I love Sylvia, and she has promised to be mine. If disaster occurs, then I am fully prepared to meet it. You seem in close touch with this remarkable association of thieves and assassins, or you would hardly be so readily aware of their evil intentions.”