'What is thy fault, sweet Isabel?'
'Thou hast revealed Isabel to thy mother, Pierre.'
'I have not, Isabel. Mrs. Glendinning knows not thy secret at all.'
'Mrs. Glendinning?—that's,—that's thine own mother, Pierre! In heaven's name, my brother, explain thyself. Knows not my secret, and yet thou here so suddenly, and with such a fatal aspect? Come, come with me into the house. Quick, Pierre, why dost thou not stir? Oh, my God! if mad myself sometimes, I am to make mad him who loves me best, and who, I fear, has in some way ruined himself for me;—then, let me no more stand upright on this sod, but fall prone beneath it, that I may be hidden! Tell me!' catching Pierre's arms in both her frantic hands—'tell me, do I blast where I look? is my face Gorgon's?'
'Nay, sweet Isabel; but it hath a more sovereign power; that turned to stone; thine might turn white marble into mother's milk.'
'Come with me—come quickly.'
They passed into the dairy, and sat down on a bench by the honeysuckled casement.
'Pierre, forever fatal and accursed be the day my longing heart called thee to me, if now, in the very springtime of our related love, thou art minded to play deceivingly with me, even though thou shouldst fancy it for my good. Speak to me; oh speak to me, my brother!'
'Thou hintest of deceiving one for one's good. Now supposing, sweet Isabel, that in no case would I affirmatively deceive thee;—in no case whatever;—wouldst thou then be willing for thee and me to piously deceive others, for both their and our united good?—Thou sayest nothing. Now, then, is it my turn, sweet Isabel, to bid thee speak to me, oh speak to me!'
'That unknown, approaching thing, seemeth ever ill,
