“Open that gate,” said Edith, “and prove your sincerity. Open it, and efface these marks,” she cried, as she indignantly held up her right hand, and showed her wrist, all black from the fierce grasp in which Mowbray had seized it. “Open it, and I promise you I will listen patiently to all that you may have to say.” “Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, “if I opened that gate I should never see you again.” “You will never see me again if you do not.” “At least I shall be near you.” “Near me? Yes, and hated and despised. I will call on Wiggins himself to help me. He was right; he said the time would come when I would be willing to trust him.” “Trust him? What, that man? You don't know what he is.” “And what are you, Captain Mowbray?” “I? I am a gentleman.” “Oh no,” said Edith, quietly, “not that--any thing rather than that.” At this Mowbray's face flushed crimson, but with a violent effort he repressed his passion. “Miss Dalton,” said he, “it is a thing that you might understand. The fear of losing you made me desperate. I saw in your flight the loss of all my hopes.” “And where are those hopes now?” “Well, at any rate, I have not altogether lost you. Let me hope that I may have an opportunity to explain hereafter, and to retrieve my character. Miss Dalton, a woman will sometimes forgive offenses even against herself, when she knows that they are prompted by love.” “You seem to me,” said Edith, “to seek the affections of women as you do those of dogs--by beating them soundly.” The sight of Mowbray's dog, who was in the room, reminded Edith of the master's maxim which he had uttered before this memorable ride. “Miss Dalton, you do me such wrong that you crush me. Can you not have some mercy?” “Open the gate,” said Edith. “Do that one thing, and then you may make all the explanations you wish. I will listen to anything and everything. Open the gate, and I will promise to forgive, and even to forget, the unparalleled outrage that I have suffered.” “But you will leave me forever.” “Open that gate, Captain Mowbray. Prove yourself to be what you say--do something to atone for your base conduct--and then you will have claims on my gratitude which I shall always acknowledge.” Mowbray shook his head. “Can I let you go?” he said. “Do you ask it of me?” “No,” said Edith, impatiently, “I don't ask it. I neither hope nor ask for any thing from you. Wiggins himself is more promising. At any rate, he has not as yet used absolute violence, and, what is better, he does not intrude his society where it is not wanted.” “Then I have no hope,” said Mowbray, in what was intended to be a plaintive tone.