Читать книгу The Beckoning Hand: Compendium - Allen Grant - Страница 8

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That very evening I went to see Irene. My brain was whirling even yet, and I hardly knew what I was doing; but the cool air revived me a little, and by the time I reached the Lathams’ I almost felt myself again.

Irene came down to the drawing-room to see me alone. I saw what she expected, and the shame of my duplicity overcame me utterly.

I took both her hands in mine and stood opposite her, ashamed to look her in the face, and with the terrible confession weighing me down like a burden of guilt. “Irene,” I blurted out, without preface or comment, “I have just proposed to Césarine Vivian.”

Irene drew back a moment and took a long breath. Then she said, with a tremor in her voice, but without a tear or a cry, “I expected it, Harry. I thought you meant it. I saw you were terribly, horribly in love with her.”

“Irene,” I cried, passionately and remorsefully flinging myself upon the sofa in an agony of repentance, “I do not love her. I have never cared for her. I’m afraid of her, fascinated by her. I love you, Irene, you and you only. The moment I’m away from her, I hate her, I hate her. For heaven’s sake, tell me what am I to do! I do not love her. I hate her, Irene.”

Irene came up to me and soothed my hair tenderly with her hand. “Don’t, Harry,” she said, with sisterly kindliness. “Don’t speak so. Don’t give way to it. I know what you feel. I know what you think. But I am not angry with you. You mustn’t talk like that. If she has accepted you, you must go and marry her. I have nothing to reproach you with: nothing, nothing. Never say such words to me again. Let us be as we have always been, friends only.”

“Irene,” I cried, lifting up my head and looking at her wildly, “it is the truth: I do not love her, except when I am with her: and then, some strange enchantment seems to come over me. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t escape it. In my heart, Irene, in my heart of hearts, I love you, and you only. I can never love her as I love you, Irene. My darling, my darling, tell me how to get myself away from her.”

“Hush,” Irene said, laying her hand on mine persuasively. “You’re excited to-night, Harry. You are flushed and feverish. You don’t know what you’re saying. You mustn’t talk so. If you do, you’ll make me hate you and despise you. You must keep your word now, and marry Miss Vivian.”