Chapter 7 - Page 2

want to be myself and enjoy what I have won, unless I lose it all."

"Paul, whatever happens, remember we cling together and share good or
evil fortune as we always have done. I am a burden, but I cannot live
without you, for you are my world. Do not desert me."

She groped her way to him and clung to his strong arm as if it was her
only stay. Paul drew her close, saying wistfully, as he caressed the
beautiful sightless face leaning on his shoulder, "_Mia cara_, would it
break your heart, if at the last hour I gave up all and let the word
remain unspoken? My courage fails me, and in spite of the hard past I
would gladly leave them in peace."

"No, no, you shall not give it up!" cried Helen almost fiercely, while
the slumbering fire of her southern nature flashed into her face. "You
have waited so long, worked so hard, suffered so much, you must not lose
your reward. You promised, and you must keep the promise."

"But it is so beautiful, so noble to forgive, and return a blessing for
a curse. Let us bury the old feud, and right the old wrong in a new way.
Those two are so blameless, it is cruel to visit the sins of the dead on
their innocent heads. My lady has suffered enough already, and Lillian
is so young, so happy, so unfit to meet a storm like this. Oh, Helen,
mercy is more divine than justice."

Something moved Paul deeply, and Helen seemed about to yield, when the
name of Lillian wrought a subtle change in her. The color died out of
her face, her black eyes burned with a gloomy fire, and her voice was
relentless as she answered, while her frail hands held him fast, "I will
not let you give it up. We are as innocent as they; we have suffered
more; and we deserve our rights, for we have no sin to expiate. Go on,
Paul, and forget the sentimental folly that unmans you."

Something in her words seemed to sting or wound him. His face darkened,
and he put her away, saying briefly, "Let it be so then. In an hour we
must go."

On the evening of the same day, Lady Trevlyn and her daughter sat
together in the octagon room at the Hall. Twilight was falling and
candles were not yet brought, but a cheery fire blazed in the wide
chimney, filling the apartment with a ruddy glow, turning Lillian's
bright hair to gold and lending a tinge of color to my lady's pallid
cheeks. The girl sat on a low lounging chair before the fire, her head
on her hand, her eyes on the red embers, her thoughts--where? My lady
lay on her couch, a little in the shadow, regarding her daughter with an
anxious air, for over the young face a somber change had passed which
filled her with disquiet.

"You are out of spirits, love," she