‘She added words soon to looks.

‘ “I did respect, I did admire, I did like you,” she said—“yes, as much as if you were my brother; and you—you want to make a speculation of me! You would immolate me to that mill—your Moloch!”

‘I had the common-sense to abstain from any word of excuse, any attempt at palliation. I stood to be scorned.

‘Sold to the devil for the time being, I was certainly infatuated. When I did speak, what do you think I said?

‘ “Whatever my own feelings were, I was persuaded you loved me, Miss Keeldar.”

‘Beautiful, was it not? She sat quite confounded. “Is it Robert Moore that speaks?” I heard her mutter. “Is it a man, or something lower?”

‘ “Do you mean,” she asked aloud—“do you mean you thought I loved you as we love those we wish to marry?”

‘It was my meaning, and I said so.

‘ “You conceived an idea obnoxious to a woman’s feelings,” was her answer; “you have announced it in a fashion revolting to a woman’s soul. You insinuate that all the frank kindness I have shown you has been a complicated, a bold, and an immodest manœuvre to ensnare a husband. You imply that at last you come here out of pity to offer me your hand because I have courted you. Let me say this: Your sight is jaundiced: you have seen wrong; your mind is warped: you have judged wrong; your tongue betrays you: you now speak wrong. I never loved you—be at rest there. My heart is as pure of passion for you as yours is barren of affection for me.”

‘I hope I was answered, Yorke?

‘ “I seem to be a blind, besotted sort of person,” was my remark.

‘ “Loved you!” she cried. “Why, I have been as frank with you as a sister—never shunned you, never feared you. You cannot,” she affirmed triumphantly —“you cannot make me tremble with your coming, nor accelerate my pulse by your influence.”

‘I alleged that often, when she spoke to me, she blushed, and that the sound of my name moved her.

‘ “Not for your sake,” she declared briefly.

‘I urged explanation, but could get none.

‘ “When I sat beside you at the school-feast, did you think I loved you then? When I stopped you in Maythorn Lane, did you think I loved you then? When I called on you in the counting-house—when I walked with you on the pavement—did you think I loved you then?”

‘So she questioned me; and I said I did.

‘By the Lord! Yorke, she rose—she grew tall—she expanded and refined almost to flame; there was a trembling all through her, as in live coal when its vivid vermilion is hottest.

‘ “That is to say, that you have the worst opinion of me; that you deny me the possession of all I value most. That is to say, that I am a traitor to all my sisters; that I have acted as no woman can act without degrading herself and her sex; that I have sought where the incorrupt of my kind naturally scorn and abhor to seek.” She and I were silent for many a minute. “Lucifer, star of the morning,” she went on,