Sitting close by her, he spoke from time to time in a low voice; and the scorn, malice, and jealousy which lighted up the keen grey eyes and pinched features of the fallen and forgotten Beatrix on these occasions, filled the gentle Lilian with a horror and pity which she could not conceal. The presence of this unfortunate woman, who, with the indefatigable Juden, formed now his entire household, was a curb for the present on the vivacity of his lordship's passion, and seemed to restrain it within the decorous bounds of gentle whispering. He soon tired of that, and ordering supper to be laid, took advantage of the domestic's absence to draw his chair still nearer Lilian, and take her hands within his own. She was so humbled, so gentle and broken in spirit, that she permitted them to remain, and the passiveness of the action made the heart of Clermistonlee glow with additional ardour. "She loves me in secret," thought he; "but how charming is her coyness--how enchanting her modesty! My dear Lilian--" "My Lord, oh cease to persecute me thus. What wrong have I done you? In what have I offended, that you should make me so utterly miserable?" "What a soft, low, charming voice! Does it offend you, to hear the sighs of the most honourable love that ever warmed a human heart?" "This is the mere cant of love-making--flirtation--the phrases you have addressed to hundreds. My Lord, I know their full value, and despise them. 'Tis enough! I can have no love for you." "Indeed!" "None--so for heaven sake spare me more of this humiliation, and let me begone to the house of Bruntisfield." "Now what strange infatuation is this? No love for me?" mused the egotist. "Why, damsel, when I was in London with Charles, all the women were mad about me--I was quite the rage. Rochester and I led the way in everything. But that was before Bothwell Brig." He glanced at a veiled picture that often attracted his eye, and disturbed the current of his thoughts. "No love for me," he resumed, after a pause. "My pretty one, does my zeal offend you?" "Like your flattery, it does; and my captivity here--a captivity which, I fear, will ever be a stain upon my honour, makes me abhor you." "Abhor? Oh! 'tis a word never said to me before. Provoking Lilian! But," he added, maliciously, "you are right--your honour is lost, and there is only one way to redeem it." She gave him a momentary glance of inquiry and disdain. Clermistonlee drew a ring from his finger. Lilian started back. "Never--never! death were better." "Hah--then you are still thinking of him--this beggarly boy--this nameless soldier--this so-named Fenton. 'Tis a cursed infatuation, Madam; for doubtless, soldierlike he will forget you, while the flower of your youth is wasted in fruitless reliance on his constancy and advancement to honour and fortune."