Part 79 (2/2)
”Brazen-faced harlot!” he exclaimed, as he pa.s.sed her in his walk; ”unmitigated harlot!”
”Yes, sir,” she answered, in a low tone, coming up to him as she spoke, laying her hand upon his arm, and looking still full into his face--looking into it with such a gaze that even he cowered before her. ”Yes, sir, I was the thing you say. When I came to you, and sold my woman's purity for a name, a house, a place before the world--when I gave you my hand, but could not give my heart, I was--what you have said.”
”And were doubly so when he stood here s...o...b..ring on your neck.”
”No, Sir Henry, no. False to him I have been; false to my own s.e.x; false, very false to my own inner self; but never false to you.”
”Madam, you have forgotten my honour.”
”I have at any rate been able to remember my own.”
They were now standing face to face; and as she said these last words, it struck Sir Henry that it might be well to take them as a sign of grace, and to commence from them that half-forgiveness which would be necessary to his projects.
”You have forgotten yourself, Caroline--”
”Stop a moment, Sir Henry, and let me finish, since you will not allow me to remain silent. I have never been false to you, I say; and, by G.o.d's help, I never will be--”
”Well, well.”
”Stop, sir, and let me speak. I have told you often that I did not love you. I tell you so now again. I have never loved you--never shall love you. You have called me now by a base name; and in that I have lived with you and have not loved you, I dare not say that you have called me falsely. But I will sin no more.”
”What is it you mean?”
”I will not deserve the name again--even from you.”
”Nonsense; I do not understand you. You do not know what you are saying.”
”Yes, Sir Henry, I do know well what I am saying. It may be that I have done you some injury; if so, I regret it. G.o.d knows that you have done me much. We can neither of us now add to each other's comfort, and it will be well that we should part.”
”Do you mean me to understand that you intend to leave me?”
”That is what I intend you to understand.”
”Nonsense; you will do no such thing.”
”What! would you have us remain together, hating each other, vilifying each other, calling each other base names as you just now called me? And do you think that we could still be man and wife? No, Sir Henry. I have made one great mistake--committed one wretched, fatal error. I have so placed myself that I must hear myself so called and bear it quietly; but I will not continue to be so used. Do you think he would have called me so?”
”d.a.m.n him!”
”That will not hurt him. Your words are impotent against him, though they may make me shudder.”
”Do not speak of him, then.”
”No, I will not. I will only think of him.”
”By heavens! Caroline, your only wish is to make me angry.”
”I may go now, I suppose?”
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