It cannot, must not be."
His face darkened with a sudden dread.
His head fell on his breast.
His voice sank so low that she could barely hear it.
"I had forgotten something," he said.
"You've reminded me of it."
She ventured back a little nearer to him.
"Have I offended you?"
He smiled sadly.
"You have enlightened me. I had forgotten that it doesn't follow, because I love you, that you should love me in return.
Say that it is so, Mercy, and I leave you."
A faint tinge of color rose on her face—then left it again paler than ever.
Her eyes looked downward timidly under the eager gaze that he fastened on her.
"How can I say so?" she answered, simply.
"Where is the woman in my place whose heart could resist you?"
He eagerly advanced; he held out his arms to her in breathless, speechless joy.
She drew back from him once more with a look that horrified him—a look of blank despair.
"Am I fit to be your wife?" she asked.
"Must I remind you of what you owe to your high position, your spotless integrity, your famous name?
Think of all that you have done for me, and then think of the black ingratitude of it if I ruin you for life by consenting to our marriage—if I selfishly, cruelly, wickedly, drag you down to the level of a woman like me!"
"I raise you to my level when I make you my wife," he answered.
"For Heaven's sake do me justice!
Don't refer me to the world and its opinions.
It rests with you, and you alone, to make the misery or the happiness of my life.
The world!
Good God! what can the world give me in exchange for You?"
She clasped her hands imploringly; the tears flowed fast over her cheeks.
"Oh, have pity on my weakness!" she cried.
"Kindest, best of men, help me to do my hard duty toward you!
It is so hard, after all that I have suffered—when my heart is yearning for peace and happiness and love!"
She checked herself, shuddering at the words that had escaped her.
"Remember how Mr. Holmcroft has used me!
Remember how Lady Janet has left me!
Remember what I have told you of my life!
The scorn of every creature you know would strike at you through me.
No! no! no!
Not a word more.
Spare me! pity me! leave me!"
Her voice failed her; sobs choked her utterance.
He sprang to her and took her in his arms.
She was incapable of resisting him; but there was no yielding in her.
Her head lay on his bosom, passive—horribly passive, like the head of a corpse.
"Mercy!
My darling!
We will go away—we will leave England—we will take refuge among new people in a new world—I will change my name—I will break with relatives, friends, everybody.
Anything, anything, rather than lose you!"
She lifted her head slowly and looked at him.
He suddenly released her; he reeled back like a man staggered by a blow, and dropped into a chair.
Before she had uttered a word he saw the terrible resolution in her face—Death, rather than yield to her own weakness and disgrace him.
She stood with her hands lightly clasped in front of her.