It was but a moment:
she withdrew herself from his supporting arms, and stood erect before
him, though words she had none.
"Speak to me!" reiterated Arthur, his voice sounding hollow and
changed; "I ask but one word. My very senses seem to play me false,
and mock me with thy outward semblance to one I have so loved. Her
name, too, was Marie; her voice soft and thrilling as thine own:
and yet, yet, I feel that 'tis but semblance--'tis but mockery--the
phantasy of a disordered brain. Speak, in mercy! Say that it is but
semblance--that thou art not the Marie I have so loved."
"It is true--I am that Marie. I have wronged thee most cruelly, most
falsely," she answered, in a tone low and collected indeed, but
expressive of intense suffering. "It is too late now, either to atone
or to explain. Leave me, Senor Stanley: I am another's!"
"Too late to explain? By heaven but thou shalt!" burst fiercely and
wrathfully from Stanley. "Is it not enough, that thou hast changed my
whole nature into gall, made truth itself a lie, purity a meaningless
word, but thou wilt shroud thyself under the specious hood of duty to
another, when, before heaven, thou wast mine alone. Speak!"
"Ay, I will speak--implore thee by the love thou didst once bear me,
Arthur, leave me now! I can hear no more to-night.
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