Then I turned to my well-beloved and asked—
“What is the truth? Do you love me?”
“Yes, Owen, I do,” was her frank and fervent response.
“I did not mean that,” said Shuttleworth hastily. “I meant the truth concerning yourself.”
“Mr. Biddulph knows what I am.”
“But he does not know who you are.”
“Then you may tell him,” was her hoarse reply. “Tell him!” she cried wildly. “Tear from me all that I hold sacred—all that I hold most dear—dash me back into degradation and despair—if you will! I am in your hands.”
“Sylvia!” he said reproachfully. “I am your friend—and your father’s friend. I am not your enemy. I regret if you have ever thought I have lifted a finger against you.”
“Are you not standing as a barrier between myself and Mr. Biddulph?” she protested, her eyes flashing.