“Why not?”
“Because I must marry this man.”
“Must?”
“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.
“But you were in that position regarding Blumenthal,” I remarked, much puzzled. In the darkness I could not distinguish the expression of her countenance, but from her voice I knew that she was in desperation, and that she was actually telling me a hideous truth.
“Misfortune seems to follow upon me,” was her somewhat enigmatical answer.
“Then be frank with me, Ella. This man whom you will not name is forcing you to marry him.”
She was, however, silent. Either she feared to commit herself, or she was reflecting upon how much she dare tell me.
I heard her breath going and coming in quick gasps, and I could distinguish that her pointed chin had sunk upon her chest in an attitude of deep dejection.
“Why not tell me everything, darling?” I went on, hoping to persuade her to confess. “Remember what I am to you; remember that our lives have for so long been linked together, that ever in these years of our separation you have been mine always, in heart and soul. I have smiled upon no other woman but your own sweet self, and never once has my heart been stirred by the zephyr of love since that dark wet night when we parted in London, and I went forth into the wide grey ocean of despair. Ella, you—”