"Women usually, at least romantic and incredulous women like me, demand
some proof of a lover's devotion," I resumed, as coolly as I could,
"before yielding him their faith and fealty; but Mr. Gregory has given
me no evidence so far of the sincerity of his passion; I confess I find
it difficult, under the circumstances, to believe in its existence."
He drew near to me, bent eagerly above me, then again concealed himself,
as it was wise for him to do, in shadow; and I could hear his hissing
breath, as it passed between his closed teeth--like that of a roused
serpent. The impulse of the man came near betraying him, but he rallied
and refrained from an exposure, as he would have supposed it, that must
have been fatal to his success as a lover, even if it confirmed his
power of possession.
His tones, low and deep, were unmistakably those of suppressed passion
when he spoke again, and he had almost dropped his accent, so
wonderfully assumed.
"When shall he come to you, and speak for himself? Let me take to him
some word of encouragement from your lips--for de love of whom--he
languishes--he dies! All other passions of his life have proved like
cobwebs, compared to this--avarice, ambition, revenge, all yield before
it! He is your slave! Do not trample on a fervent heart, thus laid at
your feet! Have mercy on this unfortunate!"
"Strange language from a captor to a captive--mocking language, that I
find unendurable! Let Mr.
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