"Till lately!" she interrupted him, with a gesture and an expression of the most harrowing agony, "oh! ever, ever!"--and would again have thrown herself into his arms, but that Lord Glenmore retreated from her advance, and she fell on her knees with clasped hands before him, and raising her eyes stedfastly to his, remained in silent supplication, till Lord Glenmore, evidently as much moved as herself, gently raised her, and bidding her sit on the sofa by him, said, "You must be calm, Georgina. I must hear your explanation. I need not ask you if you felt there was no impropriety, as a married woman, in your receiving notes of this description: your agitation proves that you feel it was wrong. But I must first know how you came to admit of any addresses of the sort; and then I must learn how far your error has proceeded, and whether your heart is engaged in it."--Lady Glenmore shook her head in agony of denial.--"And remember, Lady Glenmore," continued Lord Glenmore, "that whilst the most perfect openness on your part can alone restore you in time to my affection, so also any deception for the moment, or any success in imposing on me, must eventually recoil on yourself, and only hasten your ruin and the entire loss of my heart and esteem."
Lady Glenmore remained bathed in tears, apparently unable to give utterance to what was passing in her breast.
"If I understand you right, Georgina, by the gesture which this moment escaped you, your heart is _not_ engaged in this affair. But how, then, I ask, could you for a moment suffer any one to assume an intimacy with you such as these notes testify? Surely it could not be vacancy of affection, and in default of any object of attachment; for was I not myself, a few short months before, the husband of your free choice? Or is it that you are changed indeed?" he added, with a look of inquiring anxiety.
Again Lady Glenmore shook her head in bitterness of sorrow.
"Tell me, then; how long has this kind of familiarity existed between you and the writer of these notes? and tell me, is any one aware of this degrading intimacy?"
"I will tell you all, Glenmore," she exclaimed; "all--all!" Lord Glenmore shuddered to think how his happiness rested on the awful revelation of what that all might be. "I will tell you every thing," she repeated; and endeavouring to still the sobs that burst from her heaving bosom, she began.--"That you, Glenmore, should think my heart engaged to any one but yourself is the deepest pang I feel; and if I have been guilty, in appearance, of any imprudence or indiscretion, it is _only in appearance_. In judging me I hope you will be merciful, though perhaps I cannot ask this at your hands. But if you see fit to cast me off, and if what I shall say avail me nothing in restoring me to your affection, still my heart will be yours till it ceases to beat; and as no one has ever shared it for an instant, so shall no one _ever_, to my dying hour. _I_ give my heart or my affections to such a one as Mr. Leslie Winyard?--impossible! I could not if I would. You, you alone, can ever possess it. But to evince the tenderness which I feel for you in public, I was told was wrong, was ridiculous; and I was taught to think that you yourself would cease to love me if I troubled you with demonstrations of this fondness. I was told, also, that another than you ought to be my attendant in the world; and the example of those around me confirmed in this idea." Lord Glenmore sighed heavily as he felt the truth of what last fell from Lady Glenmore.