“Tell me, then!” snapped Hannah harshly and incredulously.

He leaned against the window-frame and whispered: 

“I shall not survive Nora long; I feel that I shall not; I have not taken food or drink, or rested under a roof, since I heard that news, Hannah.  Well, to explain—­I was very young when I first met her—–­”

“Met who?” savagely demanded Hannah.

“My first wife.  She was the only child and heiress of a retired Jew-tradesman.  Her beauty fascinated an imbecile old nobleman, who, having insulted the daughter with ‘liberal’ proposals, that were scornfully rejected, tempted the father with ‘honorable’ ones, which were eagerly accepted.  The old Jew, in his ambition to become father-in-law to the old earl, forgot his religious prejudices and coaxed his daughter to sacrifice herself.  And thus Berenice D’Israeli became Countess of Hurstmonceux.  The old peer survived his foolish marriage but six months, and died leaving his widow penniless, his debts having swamped even her marriage portion.  His entailed estates went to the heir-at-law, a distant relation—­”

“What in the name of Heaven do you think I care for your countesses!  I want to know what excuse you can give for your base deception of my sister,” fiercely interrupted Hannah.

“I am coming to that.  It was in the second year of the Countess Hurstmonceux’s widowhood that I met her at Brighton.  Oh, Hannah, it is not in vanity; but in palliation of my offense that I tell you she loved me first.  And when a widow loves a single man, in nine cases out of ten she will make him marry her.  She hunted me down, ran me to earth—­”

“Oh, you wretch! to say such things of a lady!” exclaimed the woman, with indignation.

“It is true, Hannah, and in this awful hour, with that ghastly form before me, truth and not false delicacy must prevail.  I say then that the Countess of Hurstmonceux hunted me down and run me to earth, but all in such feminine fashion that I scarcely knew I was hunted.  I was flattered by her preference, grateful for her kindness and proud of the prospect of carrying off from all competitors the most beautiful among the Brighton belles; but all this would not have tempted me to offer her my hand, for I did not love her, Hannah.”

“What did tempt you then?” inquired the woman.

“Pity; I saw that she loved me passionately, and—­I proposed to her.”

“Coxcomb! do you think she would have broken her heart if you hadn’t?”

“Yes, Hannah, to tell the truth, I did think so then; I was but a boy, you know; and I had that fatal weakness of which I told you—­that which dreaded to inflict pain and delighted to impart joy.  So I asked her to marry me.  But the penniless Countess of Hurstmonceux was the sole heiress of the wealthy old Jew, Jacob D’Israeli.  And he had set his mind upon her marrying a gouty marquis, and thus taking one step higher in the peerage;