Why did you
follow me, my lord? You knew that I loved you not. You knew my
mind, and that I was weak and friendless, and you used your
power. I must tell you, my lord, that you were not chivalrous, nor
compassionate, nor brave" -
"I loved you!" he cried, and stretched out his arm toward her across
the table. He saw no one but her, spoke to none but her. There was
a fierce yearning and a hopelessness in his voice and bent head and
outstretched arm that lent for the time a tragic dignity to the
pageant, evil and magnificent, of his life.
"You loved me," she said. "I had rather you had hated me, my lord.
I came to Virginia, your Honor, and men thought me the thing I
professed myself. In the green meadow beyond the church they
wooed me as such. This one came and that one, and at last a
fellow, when I said him nay and bade him begone, did dare to
seize my hands and kiss my lips. While I struggled one came and
flung that dastard out of the way, then asked me plainly to become
his wife, and there was no laugh or insult in his voice. I was
wearied and fordone and desperate. . . . So I met my husband, and
so I married him. That same day I told him a part of my secret, and
when my Lord Carnal was come I told him all. . . . I had not met
with much true love or courtesy or compassion in my life. When I
saw the danger in which he stood because of me, I told him he
might free himself from that coil, might swear to what they
pleased, whistle me off, save himself, and I would say no word of
blame.
Pages:
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296