He shall
not gain possession of you while I am alive. When I am dead, if you
touch his hand, you shall know that my blood is upon it, and the guilt
shall be on your own head. I believe that in keeping you apart I should
act kindly toward both. I do him this justice--it would make him
miserable to see you pining away. There are limits to human endurance,
and you are too proud to bear dishonor."
Cecil felt that every word he had spoken was good and true, and that he
would not waver in his purpose for an instant. She remembered how, when
they were returning together four days ago, the sidelong glance of a
matronly Pharisee had lighted on her in a spiteful triumph, and how,
though neither of them alluded to it afterward, the dark-red flash of
anger had mounted to Royston's forehead. She had ceased to care for
herself, but could she not save _him_ while yet there was time? And
more--had she not wrought wrong enough to Mark Waring without having his
murder on her soul? for she never doubted as to the result if those two
should meet as foes.
They talk of hair that has grown gray in the briefest space of mental
anguish.
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