If so, be very sure it was not fear which
caused the emotion, though even that the circumstances might have
excused; rather, I think, it was a pang of self-reproach--a
consciousness of having acted unwisely, though for the best; perhaps,
too, the stubbornness of the heart she had ruled once--so strong and
proud even in its abasement--was congenial to her own besetting sin: she
liked the fierce threat better than the cool sarcasm. At any rate, she
answered more gently than she had yet spoken.
"I believe you. But you know me better than to think a threat would
influence me. Yet you need not fear my ever again trusting this world
with my happiness. You will be very sorry hereafter for some things you
have said to-night. Ask yourself--if I had loved you, as you seem to
have expected, better than my own soul, would the result have been
different? It is too late now to say any thing but--farewell. Will you
not say it, as I do, kindly, or at least not in anger--Guy?"
She paused between the two last words, and their imploring accent was
almost piteous. There must have been a strange fascination about
Livingstone, for, saint as she was, no other living creature would have
won such a concession from the Christian charity of Constance Brandon.
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