The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II (of II)Lever, Charles
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The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II (of II)
Lever, Charles
English fiction -- 19th century
“You did not dare to write my name?” asked the priest, in a slow,
deliberate voice.
“And why should I not?” cried she, haughtily. “Is it fear, or is it
gratitude should hold my hand?”
“You forget the past, Lola, or you had never said these words.”
“I remember it but as a troubled dream, which I will not suffer to
darken my waking hours. At last I begin to live, and never till now have
I known the sensation of being above fear.”
“You told the Prince, then, of our relations together? You showed him my
letters and your own replies?” said D'Esmonde, as he fixed his dark eyes
upon her.
“All,--all!” said she, with a haughty smile.
“You, perhaps, told him that I had engaged you to write to me of all you
heard or saw at St Petersburg?”
“I said so, in a most unpolished phrase: I called myself a spy.”
“You were probably not less candid when designating your friends, Lola,”
said D'Esmonde, with a faint smile. “How, pray, did you name _me_?”
“It was a better word,----one of cutting reproach, believe me,” said
she. “I called you a 'priest,' sir; do you think there is another
epithet that can contain as much?”
“In the overflowing of those frank impulses, Lola, of course you spoke
of Norwood,--of Gerald Acton, I mean, as you may remember him better by
that name. You told the Prince of your marriage to this Englishman,--a
marriage solemnized by myself, and of which I retain the written
evidence.”
“With the falsehood that for a brief moment imposed upon myself, I would
not stoop to cheat another! No, Eustace, this may be priestcraft. To
outlive a deception, and then employ it; to tremble at a fallacy first,
and to terrorize by means of it after, is excellent Popery, but most
sorry womanhood!”
“Unhappy, wretched creature!” cried D'Esmonde; “where have you learned
these lessons?--who could have taught you this?”
“You,--and you alone, Eustace. In reading _your_ nature I unread my own
faith. In seeing your falsehood, I learned to believe there was no truth
anywhere. I asked myself, what must be the religion if this man be its
interpreter?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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