Was it at all singular that she recoiled from such an alternative? She could not endure this captivity any longer. And was it, then, so dreadful to give herself to the man who adored her? No. If she did not love him, she at least had a strong friendship, and this in time might change to love. She had a greater regard for him than for any other man. Distasteful? It was. Yes. But it was far better than this imprisonment. She must take him as her husband, or lose him forever. He could do no more for her unless she became his wife. He could only save her by marrying her.
She was touched by his present attitude. He was waiting so patiently, so humbly. She saw his deep agitation.
Suddenly, by a quick movement, she turned toward him and held out her hand. Dudleigh took it, and for a moment each gazed into the other's eyes, regardless of observation. Dudleigh's face was deathly pale, and his hand as cold as ice.
"Oh, my friend," said Edith, in a low, hesitating voice, "what can I say to you? I can not give you love. I have no such feeling, but I feel deep gratitude. I know your worth. You have done so much, and I wish I could feel different. If you take me as I am, I--I--I am--yours. But I am not worthy. No, I am not--not worthy of such devotion. You love me, but I do not love you. What can I do? Yet in spite of this, if you ask me, I am--yours."
Edith spoke with downcast eyes and deep embarrassment and frequent hesitation. Her last words died away almost into a whisper. But the agitation of Dudleigh was now even greater than her own. A change came over him that was terrible to witness. As he took her hand he trembled, almost convulsively, from head to foot. His face became ghastly white, he pressed his hand against his heart, his breathing was thick and oppressed, big drops of perspiration started forth upon his brow, and at last, to Edith's amazement, he burst into tears, and sobbed aloud. Then he dropped her hand, and turned away, murmuring some inarticulate words.
At this Edith's confusion passed away, and changed to wonder. What was the meaning of this? Tears and sobs--and from a man! But the thought at once occurred that this was his sensitiveness, and that it arose from her telling him so plainly that she did not love him. "I can not love him, and he knows it," she thought, "and it breaks his heart, poor fellow! How I wish I could console him!"