“Hold,----hold!” cried D'Esmonde, passionately. “It is not to such as you I can render account of my actions, nor lay bare the secret workings of my heart. Know this much, however, woman, and ponder over it well; that if a man like me can make shipwreck of his whole nature, crush his hopes, and blast his budding affections, the cause that exacts the sacrifice must needs be holy. Bethink you that my goal is not like _yours_. I have not plotted for a life of inglorious ease. I have not schemed to win a pampered and voluptuous existence. It is not in a whirlwind of passionate enjoyment I have placed the haven of my hopes. you see me--as I have ever been--poor, meanly housed, and meanly fed; not repining at my lot either, not deeming my condition a hard one. Why am I thus, then? Are the prizes that worldly men contend for above _my_ reach? Am I the inferior of those who are carrying away the great rewards of life? Where is the stain of falsehood in all this?” “Were I to copy the picture and paint myself in the same colors,” said Lola,----“were I to show what I have stooped to,--a scoff and a shame!--how I neither faltered at a crime nor trembled before exposure----all that I might be--what I now am--” “The mistress of a Prince!” said D'Esmonde, with a contemptuous smile. “Was it a prouder fortune when my lover was the serge-clad seminarist of Salamanca?” said she, laughing scornfully. “I linked you with a higher destiny, Lola,” said D'Esmonde, deliberately. “Again you refer to this pretended marriage. But I put no faith in your words; nor, were they even true, should they turn me from my path.” “At least you should confirm your claim to his name and title,” said D'Esmonde. “The rank you will thus attain will but strengthen your position in the world; and they who would treat contemptuously the Toridor's daughter will show every courtesy and deference to the English peeress.” “I will hazard nothing on your advice, priest!” said she, proudly. “I know you as one who never counselled without a scheme of personal advantage. This Acton has injured you. You desire his ruin; or, perhaps, some deep intrigue awaits myself. It matters not; I will not aid you.” “How you misjudge me, Lola!” said he, sorrowfully. “I meant by this act to have repaired many an unconscious wrong, and to have vindicated an affection which the troubled years of life have never been able to efface. Amidst all the cares of great events, when moments are precious as days of ordinary existence, I have come to offer you this last reparation. Think well ere you reject it.” “Not for an instant!” cried she, passionately. “Make weaker minds the tools of your subtle artifices, and leave _me_ to follow my own career.” “I will obey you,” said D'Esmonde, with an air of deep humility. “I ask but one favor. As this meeting is unknown to all, never speak of it to Midchekoff. My name need never pass your lips, nor shall my presence again offend you. Adieu forever!”