England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
She threw her arms round my neck, and held me to her with all her
strength. The moment after, she dropped on her knees. "Oh, don't tempt
me!" she murmured. "Be merciful--and leave me."
I was beside myself. I spoke as recklessly to her as she had spoken to
me.
"Prove that you love me," I said. "Let me rescue you from the
degradation of living with that man. Leave him at once and forever.
Leave him, and come with me to a future that is worthy of you--your
future as my wife."
"Never!" she answered, crouching low at my feet.
"Why not? What obstacle is there?"
"I can't tell you--I daren't tell you."
"Will you write it?"
"No, I can't even write it--to _you_. Go, I implore you, before Van
Brandt comes back. Go, if you love me and pity me."
She had roused my jealousy. I positively refused to leave her.
"I insist on knowing what binds you to that man," I said. "Let him come
back! If _you_ won't answer my question, I will put it to _him_."
She looked at me wildly, with a cry of terror. She saw my resolution in
my face.
"Don't frighten me," she said. "Let me think."
She reflected for a moment. Her eyes brightened, as if some new way out
of the difficulty had occurred to her.
"Have you a mother living?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Do you think she would come and see me?"
"I am sure she would if I asked her."
She considered with herself once more. "I will tell your mother what the
obstacle is," she said, thoughtfully.
"When?"
"To-morrow, at this time."
She raised herself on her knees; the tears suddenly filled her eyes. She
drew me to her gently. "Kiss me," she whispered. "You will never come
here again. Kiss me for the last time."
My lips had barely touched hers, when she started to her feet and
snatched up my hat from the chair on which I had placed it.
"Take your hat," she said. "He has come back."
My duller sense of hearing had discovered nothing. I rose and took
my hat to quiet her. At the same moment the door of the room opened
suddenly and softly. Mr. Van Brandt came in. I saw in his face that he
had some vile motive of his own for trying to take us by surprise, and
that the result of the experiment had disappointed him.
"You are not going yet?" he said, speaking to me with his eye on Mrs.
Van Brandt. "I have hurried over my business in the hope of prevailing
on you to stay and take lunch with us. Put down your hat, Mr. Germaine.
No ceremony!"
"You are very good," I answered. "My time is limited to-day. I must beg
you and Mrs. Van Brandt to excuse me."
I took leave of her as I spoke. She turned deadly pale when she shook
hands with me at parting. Had she any open brutality to dread from Van
Brandt as soon as my back was turned? The bare suspicion of it made my
blood boil. But I thought of _her_. In her interests, the wise thing and
the merciful thing to do was to conciliate the fellow before I left the
house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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