Then, in two steps, he was by her side and speaking almost
with a sob.
'Esther,' he said, 'have pity on me. What have I done? Can
you not forgive me? Esther, you loved me once - can you not
love me still?'
'How can I tell you? How am I to know?' she answered. 'You
are all a lie to me - all a lie from first to last. You were
laughing at my folly, playing with me like a child, at the
very time when you declared you loved me. Which was true?
was any of it true? or was it all, all a mockery? I am weary
trying to find out. And you say I loved you; I loved my
father's friend. I never loved, I never heard of, you, until
that man came home and I began to find myself deceived. Give
me back my father, be what you were before, and you may talk
of love indeed!'
'Then you cannot forgive me - cannot?' he asked.
'I have nothing to forgive,' she answered. 'You do not
understand.'
'Is that your last word, Esther?' said he, very white, and
biting his lip to keep it still.
'Yes, that is my last word,' replied she.
'Then we are here on false pretences, and we stay here no
longer,' he said. 'Had you still loved me, right or wrong, I
should have taken you away, because then I could have made
you happy. But as it is - I must speak plainly - what you
propose is degrading to you, and an insult to me, and a rank
unkindness to your father.
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