"I love her with all the strength of my being, and for me that is sufficient," I declared. "Ah!" he cried in despair as he paced the room. "To think of the irony of it all! That you should actually woo her--of all women!" Then, halting before me, his eye grew suddenly aflame, he clenched his hands and cried: "But you shall not! Understand me, you shall hate her; you shall curse her very name. You shall never love her--never--I, Edmund Shuttleworth, forbid it! It must not be!" At that instant the _frou-frou_ of a woman's skirts fell upon my ears, and, turning quickly, I saw Sylvia herself standing at the open French windows. Entering unobserved she had heard those wild words of the rector's, and stood pale, breathless, rigid as a statue. "There!" he cried, pointing at her with his thin, bony finger. "There she is! Ask her yourself, now--before me--the reason why she can never be your wife--the reason that her love is forbidden! If she really loves you, as she pretends, she will tell you the truth with her own lips!" CHAPTER FIFTEEN FORBIDDEN LOVE I stood before Shuttleworth angry and defiant. I had crossed to Sylvia and had taken her soft hand. "I really cannot see, sir, by what right you interfere between us!" I cried, looking at him narrowly. "You forbid! What do I care--why, pray, should you forbid my actions?" "I forbid," repeated the thin-faced clergyman, "because I have a right--a right which one day will be made quite plain to you." "Ah! Mr. Shuttleworth," gasped Sylvia, now pale as death, "what are you saying?" "The truth, my child. You know too well that, for you, love and marriage are forbidden," he exclaimed, looking at her meaningly. She sighed, and her tiny hand trembled within my grasp. Her mouth trembled, and I saw that tears were welling in her eyes. "Ah! yes," she cried hoarsely a moment later. "I know, alas! that I am not like other women. About me there have been forged bonds of steel--bonds which I can never break." "Only by one means," interrupted Shuttleworth, terribly calm and composed. "No, no!" she protested quickly, covering her face with her hands as though in shame. "Not that--never that! Do not let us speak of it!" "Then you have no right to accept this man's love," he said reproachfully, "no right to allow him to approach nearer the brink of the grave than he has done. You know full well that, for him, your love must prove fatal!" She hung her head as though not daring to look again into my eyes. The strange clergyman's stern rebuke had utterly confused and confounded her. Yet I knew she loved me dearly. That sweet, intense love-look of hers an hour ago could never be feigned. It spoke far more truly than mere words. Perhaps she was annoyed that I had told Shuttleworth the truth. Yes, I had acted very foolishly. My tongue had loosened involuntarily. My wild joy had led me into an injudicious confession--one that I had never dreamed would be fraught with sorrow.