He thought she had fainted, but soon saw that the event was worse:
she was in an epileptic fit. He started up, dismayed by the sense
that, like many other subtle personages, he had been too exacting
for his own interests. Such love as he was capable of, though
rather a selfish gloating than a cherishing solicitude, was fanned
into life on the instant. He closed the wardrobe with the pulley,
clasped her in his arms, took her gently to the window, and did all
he could to restore her.
It was a long time before the Countess came to herself, and when she
did so, a considerable change seemed to have taken place in her
emotions. She flung her arms around him, and with gasps of fear
abjectly kissed him many times, at last bursting into tears. She
had never wept in this scene before.
'You'll take it away, dearest--you will!' she begged plaintively.
'If you love me.'
'I do--oh, I do!'
'And hate him, and his memory?'
'Yes--yes!'
'Thoroughly?'
'I cannot endure recollection of him!' cried the poor Countess
slavishly. 'It fills me with shame--how could I ever be so
depraved! I'll never behave badly again, Uplandtowers; and you will
never put the hated statue again before my eyes?'
He felt that he could promise with perfect safety. 'Never,' said
he.
'And then I'll love you,' she returned eagerly, as if dreading lest
the scourge should be applied anew. 'And I'll never, never dream of
thinking a single thought that seems like faithlessness to my
marriage vow.
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