Part 65 (1/2)

'You must read those of only one colour, then,' said he slyly; 'or perhaps it is the tone of comment you hear about you. Are your sentiments such as you daily listen to from Lord Kilgobbin and his family?'

'I don't know that they are. I suspect I'm more of a rebel than he is; but I'll ask him if you wish it.'

'On no account, I entreat you. It would compromise me seriously to hear such a discussion even in jest. Remember who I am, mademoiselle, and the office I hold.'

'Your great frankness, Mr. Walpole, makes me sometimes forget both,' said she, with well-acted humility.

'I wish it would do something more,' said he eagerly. 'I wish it would inspire a little emulation, and make you deal as openly with _me_ as I long to do with _you_.'

'It might embarra.s.s you very much, perhaps.'

'As how?' asked he, with a touch of tenderness in his voice.

For a second or two she made no answer, and then, faltering at each word, she said, 'What if some rebel leader--this man Donogan, for instance--drawn towards you b some secret magic of trustfulness, moved by I know not what need of your sympathy--for there is such a craving void now and then felt in the heart--should tell you some secret thought of his nature--something that he could utter alone to himself--would you bring yourself to use it against him? Could you turn round and say, ”I have your inmost soul in my keeping. You are mine now--mine--mine?”'

'Do I understand you aright?' said he earnestly. 'Is it just possible, even possible, that you have that to confide to me which would show that you regard me as a dear friend?'

'Oh! Mr. Walpole,' burst she out pa.s.sionately, 'do not by the greater power of _your_ intellect seek the mastery over _mine_. Let the loneliness and isolation of my life here rather appeal to you to pity than suggest the thought of influencing and dominating me.'

'Would that I might. What would I not give or do to have that power that you speak of.'

'Is this true?' said she.

'It is.'

'Will you swear it?'

'Most solemnly.'

She paused for a moment, and a slight tremor shook her mouth; but whether the motion expressed a sentiment of acute pain or a movement of repressed sarcasm, it was very difficult to determine.

'What is it, then, that you would swear?' asked she calmly and even coldly.

'Swear that I have no hope so high, no ambition so great, as to win your heart.'

'Indeed! And that other heart that you have won--what is to become of it?'

'Its owner has recalled it. In fact, it was never in _my_ keeping but as a loan.'

'How strange! At least, how strange to me this sounds. I, in my ignorance, thought that people pledged their very lives in these bargains.'

'So it ought to be, and so it would be, if this world were not a web of petty interests and mean ambitions; and these, I grieve to say, will find their way into hearts that should be the home of very different sentiments.

It was of this order was that compact with my cousin--for I will speak openly to you, knowing it is her to whom you allude. We were to have been married. It was an old engagement. Our friends--that is, I believe, the way to call them--liked it. They thought it a good thing for each of us.

Indeed, making the dependants of a good family intermarry is an economy of patronage--the same plank rescues two from drowning. I believe--that is, I fear--we accepted all this in the same spirit. We were to love each other as much as we could, and our relations were to do their best for us.'

'And now it is all over?'

'All--and for ever.'

'How came this about?'