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A long struggle ensued in her mind; she could not give him the
explanation he demanded, because unable to bring herself to mention her
stepmother.
"If you persist," she said at last, "I must persist also. I tell you again, the
offer of your love to me—here, in this house, is an outrage, and scorn is my
only answer. Does that suffice? Would you have me add more bitterness to
my refusal?"
"Violet, I cannot quit you without..... Tell me, is there not that in your
mind which you shrink from uttering, and which has reference to some one
in this house?"
"I do."
"Not until you have heard me. Will you hear me.... Will you, in this
solemn moment, let me lay before you the whole history of my heart? You
think me a villain, will you listen before you condemn?"
There was something so solemn and so touching in his tone, that Violet
was deeply affected by it; the sad earnestness of his voice pleaded
eloquently in his favour.
He approached, and took her hand; she withdrew it hastily, and moved
towards the mantelpiece, against which she leaned in an attitude of
exquisite dignity, turning her face towards him, prepared to listen. After
gazing stedfastly at her for a few seconds, while he collected his thoughts,
he thus spoke,—
"Violet, I am about to make a most painful avowal; one that will startle
you; one that will seem wholly inexplicable. When but a boy, I loved—
loved as boys love, unreasoningly and ardently. I have tropical blood in my
veins, Violet, and all passions become intense with me. The girl I loved
returned my affection. We were to have been married. I was called away
from England. I returned to my father in Brazil. My father gave his consent
to our marriage. I wrote to inform her of it: she was overjoyed. Her letters
were as ardent as even I could wish. Suddenly they ceased. My father died.
I was settling his affairs, and preparing to quit Brazil for England, when I
learned from a newspaper that my affianced wife had married another."
"I cannot tell you," he resumed, "what I suffered on awakening from the
sort of stupor in which this intelligence threw me. You have never known—
may God preserve you from ever knowing it!—what that desolation is,
when those we love are found unworthy of our love! The anguish and
despair which then tore my soul to pieces, I shudder to look back upon. It
was not that my love had been destroyed—it was not that which made the
pang; it was the horrible, heartless cruelty with which I had been deceived. I
had been sacrificed to wealth. That I might have forgiven; but it was done
so cruelly! Until she had accepted her husband, her letters were as
affectionate and hopeful as ever. The blow was unbroken in its fall—no
wonder that it nearly crushed me!"
He paused again; and saw tears glisten in the earnest eyes of his listener.
She, too, had known what it was to suffer from hopeless love!
"Not quite."
"Before I left England, I had only to learn my fate: if you refused me, I
should carry my despair into distant lands; if you accepted the offer of a
heart, I thought you would not refuse to quit England with me. You have
now heard all. I have told you of my crime: if repentance will not clear me
from the stain...."
The door was thrown violently open before he could conclude the
sentence, and Mrs. Vyner stood before them.
Fearful indeed was the aspect of the little fury, as with bloodshot eyes,
quivering lips, and spasm-contracted face, she trembled before them. All
that was diabolical in her nature seemed roused, and looking from her eyes:
passion made her hideous.
"Your little history is incomplete," she said in a hissing tone; her voice
lowered by the intensity of her feeling; "there is a chapter to be added,
which you will allow me to add. Miss Vyner is so excellent a listener that
she will not refuse to hear it."
"But you must hear this; it concerns you. You cannot be indifferent to
anything which relates to your honourable lover; you cannot be unwilling to
know that he who offers you his hand is vain fool enough to be the dupe of
any woman, as he has been mine. He has told you, and how prettily he told
it! what pathos! what romance! he told you how I played with him. That is
true. He was such a vain silly creature that no one could resist the
temptation. Not only did I make a fool of him as a girl. I have done so as a
married woman. I persuaded him that even respect for my husband, respect
for the world could not withstand the all-conquering beauty of his lumpish
person, and he believed it! believed that his face was a charm no woman
could resist. This besotted vanity brought him to my feet; yes, even at the
time you were sighing for him, he was at my feet, ardent, submissive, a
plaything for my caprice!"
She saw Violet writhing, and her savage heart exulted in the pain she
was inflicting; she saw Marmaduke's calm contempt, and her exasperation
deepened at the unavailingness of her sarcasms to wound him.
"Accept him, Miss Vyner," she said with a short, hollow, and hysterical
laugh; "pray put him out of his misery; accept the offering of his deep
reverence, for that offering is my leavings!"
"A reformed rake, you know, makes the best husband," she pursued; "so
that one so inflammable as he is, will be sure to make a constant and
adoring husband. You will be so happy with him! Whenever conversation
grows dull, he can amuse you with narrating little episodes of his love for
me, and my cruelty that will be so pleasant! you will never tire of that!
Accept him: you will be sure never to repent it!"
Violet, seeing clearly the purpose of these horrible phrases, cut them
short by saying,—
"Mr. Ashley, on some better occasion we will speak again of this; do not
let the present ignoble scene continue."
She held out her hand to him. He pressed it to his lips. Mrs. Vyner
nearly shrieked with mad jealousy; but suppressed the explosion of her
agony; while Violet swept out of the room, disdaining to give even a
passing glance at her.
Mrs. Vyner sank exhausted into a chair. Her brain was as if on fire, and
her whole frame shook violently with the unutterable rage, jealousy, and
hate which stormed within her heart.
Marmaduke could not in his fiercest moments have desired a more
terrible retribution than that which now had fallen on the miserable woman;
and he gazed upon her with a pity which astonished himself. To this he had
brought her; unwittingly it is true, but he felt it was he who had moved the
stone which had fallen and crushed her; and now that she lay there suffering
before him, his anger had gone, and pity filled its place.
She expected him to speak; she saw his fixed gaze and endeavoured to
interpret it; but he spoke not. Before she was aware of his intention, he had
left the room.
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