As she spoke, with passion distorting every feature of her face, all her beauty vanished away from the eyes of the proud Maltravers, as if by witchcraft: the angel seemed transformed into the fury; and cold, bitter, and withering was the eye which he fixed upon that altered countenance. "Mark me, Lady Florence Lascelles," said he, very calmly, "you have now said what you can never recall. Neither in man nor in woman did Ernest Maltravers ever forget or forgive a sentence which accused him of dishonour. I bid you farewell for ever; and with my last words I condemn you to the darkest of all dooms--the remorse that comes too late!" Slowly he moved away; and as the door closed upon that towering and haughty form, Florence already felt that his curse was working to its fulfilment. She rushed to the window--she caught one last glimpse of him as his horse bore him rapidly away. Ah! when shall they meet again? CHAPTER IX. "And now I live--O wherefore do I live? And with that pang I prayed to be no more." WORDSWORTH. IT was about nine o'clock that evening, and Maltravers was alone in his room. His carriage was at the door--his servants were arranging the luggage--he was going that night to Burleigh. London--society-the world--were grown hateful to him. His galled and indignant spirit demanded solitude. At this time, Lumley Ferrers entered. "You will pardon my intrusion," said the latter, with his usual frankness--"but--" "But what, sir? I am engaged." "I shall be very brief. Maltravers, you are my old friend. I retain regard and affection for you, though our different habits have of late estranged us. I come to you from my cousin--from Florence--there has been some misunderstanding between you. I called on her to-day after you left the house. Her grief affected me. I have only just quitted her. She has been told by some gossip or other some story or other--women are credulous, foolish creatures;--undeceive her, and, I dare say, all may be settled." "Ferrers, if a man had spoken to me as Lady Florence did, his blood or mine must have flowed. And do you think that words that might have plunged me into the guilt of homicide if uttered by a man, I could ever pardon in one whom I had dreamed of for a wife? Never!" "Pooh, pooh--women's words are wind. Don't throw away so splendid a match for such a trifle." "Do you too, sir, mean to impute mercenary motives to me?" "Heaven forbid! You know I am no coward, but I really don't want to fight you. Come, be reasonable." "I dare say you mean well, but the breach is final--all recurrence to it is painful and superfluous. I must wish you good evening." "You have positively decided?" "I have." "Even if Lady Florence made the /amende honorable/?"