“You will marry her to make her happy for a month--happy in a fool's paradise--happy till you begin to think that the face beside you may be the same as the face that watched your brother lying in his blood--that the hand which you caress--Oh, Claude, cannot you see that every day, every hour, she could not but feel that you are nursing a secret that separates you more completely from her than if an ocean were between you? Can you hope to keep that secret from her? Do you know nothing of woman? Claude, she will read your secret in a month.” “God help me, I will marry her and let the worst come upon us!” “You shall not do her this injustice if I can help it.” “You cannot help it.” “I will tell her that she is the daughter of Carton Standish; and then, if she chooses to marry you, she will do so with her eyes open.” She went to the door. “No--no; not that--not that,” he cried. She opened the door and called the girl's name. He threw himself once more down on a chair and bowed his head. The answering voice of Clare was heard, and then the sound of her feet on the oak floor of the passage. “You will come here for a few moments, Clare,” said Agnes, and the girl entered the room. He kept his face bowed down almost to his knees, as he cried: “No, no; don't tell her that. Take her away; I cannot look at her. Take her away; tell her anything but that.” Clare gasped. She caught the arm which Agnes held out to her. “Clare,” said Agnes, “you must nerve yourself for the worst. Mr. Westwood wishes to be released from his engagement to you. He has heard something; that is to say, he has come to the conclusion that--that he must leave this country without delay--in short, to-morrow he sets out for Africa once more.” “That is not true!” cried Clare. “I can hear the false ring in your words. Claude--Claude, you do not mean”-- “Take her away--take her away! I cannot look at her. I see him--him in the room.” The girl gave a start, and looked from the one to the other. She straightened herself and the expression on her face was one of defiance. “Very well,” she said. “Yes, it is very well.” She gave a long sigh, then a gasp. Her face became deathly white. She did not fall. Agnes had caught her in her arms. CHAPTER XXVII. |The blow had fallen. His punishment had come, and Agnes, lying on her bed that night, felt that she would have given everything that she possessed to avert it. If there had been any thought of revenge in her heart originally--and she felt that perhaps there had been some such thought the moment that Sir Percival Hope had told her what she should have seen for herself long before, namely, that Claude Westwood was in love with Clare--there was now nothing in her heart but pity for the girl whom she had left sleeping in the next room.