‘Indeed, Mr. Camwell, you presume.’

’The time, and my knowledge of what it is fraught with, demand it and excuse it.  You and I, my dear and one only love on earth, stand outside of ordinary rules.  We are between life and death.’

‘We are so always.’

’Listen further to the preacher:  We have them close on us, with the question, Which it shall be to-morrow.  You are for sleeping on, but I say no; nor shall that iniquity of double treachery be committed because of your desire to be rocked in a cradle.  Hear me out.  The drug you have swallowed to cheat yourself will not bear the shock awaiting you tomorrow with the first light.  Hear these birds!  When next they sing, you will be broad awake, and of me, and the worship and service I would have dedicated to you, I do not . . . it is a spectral sunset of a day that was never to be!—­awake, and looking on what?  Back from a monstrous villainy to the forlorn wretch who winked at it with knots in a string.  Count them then, and where will be your answer to heaven?  I begged it of you, to save you from those blows of remorse; yes, terrible!’

‘Oh, no!’

‘Terrible, I say!’

‘You are mistaken, Mr. Camwell.  It is my soother.  I tell my beads on it.’

’See how a persistent residence in this place has made a Pagan of the purest soul among us!  Had you . . . but that day was not to lighten me!  More adorable in your errors that you are than others by their virtues, you have sinned through excess of the qualities men prize.  Oh, you have a boundless generosity, unhappily enwound with a pride as great.  There is your fault, that is the cause of your misery.  Too generous! too proud!  You have trusted, and you will not cease to trust; you have vowed yourself to love, never to remonstrate, never to seem to doubt; it is too much your religion, rare verily.  But bethink you of that inexperienced and most silly good creature who is on the rapids to her destruction.  Is she not—­you will cry it aloud to-morrow—­your victim?  You hear it within you now.’

‘Friend, my dear, true friend,’ Chloe said in her deeper voice of melody, ’set your mind at ease about to-morrow and her.  Her safety is assured.  I stake my life on it.  She shall not be a victim.  At the worst she will but have learnt a lesson.  So, then, adieu!  The West hangs like a garland of unwatered flowers, neglected by the mistress they adorned.  Remember the scene, and that here we parted, and that Chloe wished you the happiness it was out of her power to bestow, because she was of another world, with her history written out to the last red streak before ever you knew her.  Adieu; this time adieu for good!

Mr. Camwell stood in her path.  ‘Blind eyes, if you like,’ he said, ’but you shall not hear blind language.  I forfeit the poor consideration for me that I have treasured; hate me; better hated by you than shun my duty!  Your duchess is away at the first dawn this next morning; it has come to that.  I speak with full knowledge.  Question her.’