CHAPTER X.

"Coralie!" I cried, in surprise. "What is the matter? What are you doing?"

She looked up at me, the fire of her eyes flashing through the mist of tears.

"Don't scold me, Edgar; it is the fault of the music. It sent me here to tell you how dearly I love you, and to ask from you one kind word."

I was terribly embarra.s.sed. Could it be possible this beautiful woman was confessing her love for me?

"Do not judge me hastily," she said. "I am not like the fair, cold girls of this northern clime. My father had Spanish blood in his veins, and some of it flows in mine. My music went deep into my heart, and my heart cried aloud for one kind word from you."

"Am I not always kind, Coralie?"

"Ah, yes, with that cold, English kindness which kills even sooner than your keen frost and biting winds. I want something more than this cruel kindness. Oh, cousin, can you not see I love you? I love you--ah, heaven, how dearly!--and I want your love in return."

Believe me, reader, I was speechless. I would fain have raised her, have told her, in short, sharp words, that what she was saying branded her as unmaidenly and indiscreet; but I was powerless either to move or to speak.

"I loved you," she said, "the first moment I saw you. You are not like other men, Sir Edgar. You are so generous, so simply truthful, so n.o.ble.

No wonder that I love you; no wonder that I look proud of my love. Ah, me! ah, me! would that I knew how to tell you! Give me your love; you shall never repent it. I will make home heaven for you. Men say that I have beauty and talent. Ah, me! I would use every gift I have for you; help you to win high honors that cold, unambitious natures never dream of. Ah, love me; love me, cousin! You will find no one else so true!"

Her face paled with pa.s.sion; her glorious eyes, dim with tears, were raised to mine.

"Forgive me that I have spoken first. I should have died with my love. I know that other women in my place would have done so. I could not; life is strong within me. I could not die here, tortured to death by inches, without telling you. Ah, say to me that I shall not die!"

Weak words of mine cannot tell the pa.s.sionate music of her voice, the pa.s.sionate beauty of her face.

"You do not speak to me; you cannot forgive me that I have not borne my love and sorrow in silence until it killed me. Ah, see what love must mine be to make me to speak to you, to make me kneel to you, asking for my life, my life!" and as she uttered the words her head dropped on my arm, and her wealth of golden-brown hair fell over me.

G.o.d knows I would have given worlds to have rushed away. Never was man more unwillingly drawn into an embarra.s.sing situation. And that very day Agatha had promised to be my wife. It was high time I said something.

Gently as my patience and embarra.s.sment would allow me, I raised the girl.

"Coralie," I said, gravely, "you are not yourself, I am sure."

"It is for my life," she said. "I am asking for my life!"

"You are easily excited and impulsive," I said; "that music has bewildered you. I do love you, Coralie; so does Clare. You are our kinswoman and our charge. How can we help loving you?"

"Ah, me!" she moaned, "you will not understand; it is not that love, Edgar. I want to pa.s.s my life by your side. I want your joys to be mine--your sorrows to be mine, darling; I want to share your interests.

Will you not understand?"

"I do understand, Coralie. All the love of my heart is given--gone from me. Only this day I asked Miss Thesiger to be my wife, and she consented. All my love, my faith, my loyalty are hers."

I shall never forget how that fair woman rose and looked at me. The love-light and the mist of tears died from her eyes. All the lovely color faded from her face.

"You have slain me; you have given me, my death-blow!"

"Nay, Coralie; you are too sensible and brave."

She waved her hand with a gesture commanding silence.

"Do not seek to comfort me," she said. "You cannot. I have humiliated myself in vain. I have shown the depth of my heart, the very secrets of my soul, only that you may laugh at me with your fair-faced Agatha."

"Hush, Coralie; you have no right to say such things; what you have just said will never pa.s.s my lips. I shall not even think of it. You cannot suspect me of the meanness to talk to Miss Thesiger of anything of the kind."

She looked at me with a dazed face, as though she could barely grasp my meaning.

"Tell me it again," she said. "I cannot believe it."

"Listen, Coralie: I love Agatha Thesiger with all my heart, and hope very soon to make her my wife. I love her so dearly that I have no room in my heart for even a thought of any other woman."

Her face grew ghastly in its pallor.

"That is sufficient," she said; "now I understand."

"We will both forget what has been said tonight, Coralie; we will never think of it, but for the future be good cousins and good friends."

"No," she said, proudly; "there can be no friendship between us."

"You will think better of it; believe me, you have no truer friends than Clare and myself."

"If I ask for bread and you give me a stone, is that anything to make me grateful? But I declare to you, Sir Edgar Trevelyan, that you have slain me; you have slain the womanhood in me tonight by the most cruel blow!"

She looked so wild, so white, so despairing, I went up to her.

"Coralie," I said, "forget all this nonsense and be your own bright self again."

"My own bright self will never live again; a man's scorn has killed me."

Suddenly, before I knew what she was doing, she had flung herself in a fearful pa.s.sion of tears in my arms. She was sobbing with her face close to mine and her hot hands clinging to me.

"With it all, Edgar, she does not love you; she loved Miles; she loves Crown Anstey, and not you. Forget her, dear; give her up. I love you.

She is cold and formal and prudish; she is not capable of loving you as I do. She loves your fortune, not you, and I--oh, I would die if you bid me! Give her up, Edgar, and love me!"

When the pa.s.sionate outburst of tears had had full vent, I unclasped her arms and placed her in a chair.

"Let us talk reasonably, Coralie. You ask me what is impossible. I shall never, with life, give up my engagement to Miss Thesiger."

A strange, bitter smile parted her white lips. I knew afterward what that meant.

"It is better to speak plainly," I continued, "in a case like this--better for both. Listen to me, and believe, Coralie, that even had I never seen Miss Thesiger, I--forgive me, but it is the truth--I should never have loved you with more than a cousin's love; my friendship, my esteem, my care, are all yours; more I can never give you."

Pray G.o.d I may never see another woman as I saw her then. She rose; with her white face and glittering eyes. Then came to mind that line:

"h.e.l.l hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"You throw the love I have offered you back in my face, Sir Edgar?"

"No, dear; I lay it kindly and gratefully in your hands, to make the joy and happiness of some good man's life."