There was a concentrated bitterness in his voice; a contempt which broke through the calm, soft tones in which he spoke, and which revealed to his listener an entirely new side of his character. He said no word of blame regarding his father, but none the less was the blame there—trenchant and biting, if unspoken. ‘Oh, Mr. Wellfield!’ was all she could say, ‘your trials have indeed been hard. I knew nothing of this.’ ‘No. And perhaps you are wondering why I should trouble you with the tale, and thinking that it could be no possible concern of yours——Forgive me,’ he added, in the same low but vehement voice, as he came nearer to her, and bent over her chair, ‘I have no right—I have told you all this story to show you how destitute I am of all right to speak to you; but when I first met you—when you roused me from my selfish self-satisfaction, and I learned to love and worship you, as I had never imagined that I could worship, then I believed that I had to offer you, not only my whole heart and my entire devotion, but other things not utterly unworthy of your just claims; I believed that I could surround you, as I should have delighted in doing, with every outward sign of the love I bore you. All that is gone, and in its going has carried with it my hope; for it would be insult for me to ask your love when I have just learnt that I am a pauper. But I am not ashamed that you should know I did love you. Good God! did love you—that I _do_ love you! That passion masters me yet, and always will master me. Nay, do not speak, do not rebuke me, and yet—yes, tell me,’ he cried, taking her hand, ‘tell me if you ever could have returned that love of mine, if I——’ He paused a moment, for he had seen her face. For one moment he felt as if the riches of the world were his—as if nothing could matter now; a triumph, a pride which no adversity could tame. Let what might happen. Let him be in rags, and begging his bread; be compelled to stand aside and see other men surround her and court her, he knew now that other eyes she would meet with a proud indifference, let their power be what it might; but that his, let his station sink as low as it might, his could subdue her. ‘Sara!’ All the fire of his mother’s land was in his eyes, and all its voluptuous music in his voice. ‘You love me. You do not speak, but you tell me so. Look at me! Let me see it in your eyes once again, Sara, my love!’ There was exultation in his voice, and the exultation thrilled her. His passion over-mastered her, and almost terrified her, and yet it was rapture such as she had never dreamed of. Earth and heaven, with their deepest secrets, seemed suddenly opened to her—a flood of light over all. ‘Look at me!’ he exclaimed again, and it was more of a command than an entreaty.