“My lord,” she replied, “strange and unnatural as my conduct may appear, you will find it consistent.  You have lost the sway you had once over me, and, for the reasons I have already given you, I can never be yours.”

“Oh, recall your words, Amabel,” he cried, in the most moving tones he could command; “if you have no regard for me—­at least have compassion.  I will quit the court if you desire it; will abandon title, rank, wealth; and live in the humblest station with you.  You know not what I am capable of when under the dominion of passion.  I am capable of the darkest crimes, or of the brightest virtues.  The woman who has a man’s heart in her power may mould it to her own purposes, be they good or ill.  Reject me, and you drive me to despair, and plunge me into guilt.  Accept me, and you may lead me into any course, you please.”

“Were I assured of this—­” cried Amabel.

“Rest assured of it,” returned the earl, passionately.  “Oh, yield to impulses of natural affection, and do not suffer a cold and calculating creed to chill your better feelings.  How many a warm and loving heart has been so frozen!  Do not let yours be one of them.  Be mine! be mine!”

Amabel looked at him earnestly for a moment; while he, assured that he had gained his point, could not conceal a slightly triumphant smile.

“Now, your answer!” he cried.  “My life hangs upon it.”

“I am still unmoved,” she replied, coldly, and firmly.

“Ah!” exclaimed the earl with a terrible imprecation, and starting to his feet.  “You refuse me.  Be it so.  But think not that you shall escape me.  No, you are in my power, and I will use it.  You shall be mine and without the priest’s interference.  I will not degrade myself by an alliance with one so lowly born.  The strongest love is nearest allied to hatred, and mine has become hatred—­bitter hatred.  You shall be mine, I tell you, and when I am indifferent to you, I will cast you off.  Then, when you are neglected, despised, shunned, you will regret—­deeply but unavailingly—­your rejection of my proposals.”

“No, my lord, I shall never regret it,” replied Amabel, “and I cannot sufficiently rejoice that I did not yield to the momentary weakness that inclined me to accept them.  I thank you for the insight you have afforded me into your character.”

“You have formed an erroneous opinion of me, Amabel,” cried the earl, seeing his error, and trying to correct it.  “I am well nigh distracted by conflicting emotions.  Oh, forgive my violence—­forget it.”

“Readily,” she replied; “but think not I attach the least credit to your professions.”

“Away, then, with further disguise,” returned the earl, relapsing into his furious mood, “and recognise in me the person I am—­or, rather the person you would have me be.  You say you are immovable.  So am I; nor will I further delay my purpose.”

Amabel, who had watched him uneasily during this speech, retreated a step, and taking a small dagger from a handkerchief in which she kept it concealed, placed its point against her breast.