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you make me hate—" She had begun with a precipitance nearly vehement; but stopt abruptly.
"Hate me?" cried Harleigh, with a look appalled: "Good Heaven!"
"Hate you?—No,—not you! . . . I did not say you!—"
"Who, then? who then, should I make you hate?—Lord Melbury?—"
"O no, never!—'tis impossible!—Let me be gone!—let me be gone!—"
"Not till you tell me whom I should make you hate! I cannot part with you in this new ignorance! Clear, at least, this one little point Whom should I make hate you?—"
"Myself, Sir, myself!" cried she, trembling and struggling. "If you persist in thus punishing my not having fled from you, at once, as I would have fled from an enemy!"
He immediately let go her hand; but, finding that, though her look was instantly appeased, nay grateful, she was hastily retreating, he glided between her
