“_Most unworthy_, my lord!” she said, dropping her arms, and dropping her head in an attitude of the deepest misery. “I should have made this confession long ago, Lord Montressor; but I have deceived you—I have deceived you!” “In what respect, Stella? My God! It cannot be! No, it cannot be! that while betrothed to me, you do not love me!” “_Not love you! Oh! my dear lord!_” she murmured, in a voice of thrilling tenderness that carried conviction of her truth to his deepest heart. “What mean you, then, dearest one? if indeed you return my deep love.” “Oh! I do, I do, Montressor; whatever happens, wherever you go, take that assurance with you! I love you, my lord! shall ever love you, even though after what I shall have told you, you repulse and hate me, and go to our friends and say,—‘That woman whom I was about to wed, is but a whited sepulchre, whom I have proved, and whom I now reject’—and so leave me to the scorn of men, still I say—ever shall say—I love you, Lord Montressor! I love you, and the consciousness of being unworthy of your love, is the bitterest element in my punishment,” she said, in a voice of such profound misery, that Lord Montressor could scarcely continue to believe her agitation unfounded or exaggerated. He dropped upon a seat, and sitting still and white as a carved image of stone, gazed upon her, waiting her further communications. She had thrown herself into her chair and covered her face with her hands. “Speak, Stella!” at last he said, in kind, encouraging tones. She dropped her hands from a face from which a deep blush had burned away the lilies, essayed to obey, but the words seemed to suffocate her, and she remained silent. “Speak, dearest Stella,” once more he said. She cowered and shuddered, murmuring— “Oh! kill me! kill me! Indeed I think it would be right!” “My beloved Stella,” he said, in a voice of deep tenderness, rising and approaching her—“can you not trust in me?” “Ah! not with loving words though! Kill me not with loving words!” she cried almost wildly. “Stella, be calm, beloved! Your bitter self-accusation cannot make you seem unworthy to me. Take time and explain.” “Lord Montressor! it was my deep love—alas! the selfish and injurious sentiment, unworthy the holy name of love,—that has sealed my lips so long! A hundred times I have been on the point of making to you a revelation, that I have never even made to my parents, and as often the terrible fear that I should never afterward see your face again, has withheld me.” “My dearest Stella! I know not what you may be about to reveal to me; and since it is not that you do not love me, _I_ do not dread to hear it. I cannot be mistaken in your pure, womanly heart, Stella; and here I pledge you my word, that whatever that revelation may be, _it shall make no change in our present relations_.” “What! Oh, Heaven! What do you say!” exclaimed Stella, holding her breath in listening.