“I know that you hesitate to accept me as your friend,” I went on earnestly. “But before your final decision I would urge you to seek some information about me, for I can only repeat what I have already said, that our interests are in common, and that we should defend ourselves.”
“From what?”
“From the evil which you fear may fall upon you,” I answered, recollecting her words in Harpur Street.
“Ah, no!” she cried bitterly, as her fine eyes filled with tears. “It is useless for you to tell me this—perfectly useless! I, alas! know the truth. Before tomorrow,” she added in a hoarse voice, “I shall have ceased to trouble you.”
Chapter Nineteen.
The Hand and the Glove.
Do you believe in love at first sight? I did not until the moment when, in my brief conversation with the Earl’s daughter, I detected the beauty of her character. I had often heard it said that only fools love a woman at first meeting her. Yet within that woman’s heart was a fathomless well of purest affection, although its waters slept in silence and obscurity—never failing in their depth, and never overflowing in their fullness. Everything in her seemed somehow to lie beyond my view, affecting me in a manner which I felt rather than perceived. At first I did not know that it was love for her. Amid the strange atmosphere of mystery and conspiracy into which I had so suddenly been plunged, amid convulsions of doubt and fear which had during those past few days harrowed my soul, the tender influence of this woman came like that of a celestial visitant, making itself felt and acknowledged, although I could not understand it. Like a soft star that shines for a moment from behind a stormy cloud, and the next is swallowed up in tempest and darkness, the impression it left was beautiful and deep, but vague.
Perhaps you may blame me. Most probably you will. But man is ever the jetsam of the wind of destiny.