Shirley

do you think I said?
    ›Whatever my own feelings were, I was persuaded
you
loved
me,
Miss Keeldar.‹
    Beautiful! – was it not? She sat quite confounded. ›Is it Robert Moore that speaks?‹ I heard her mutter.›Is it a man – or something lower?‹
    ›Do you mean,‹ she asked aloud – ›do you mean you thought I loved you as we love those we wish to marry?‹
    It
was
my meaning; and I said so.
    ›You conceived an idea obnoxious to a woman's feelings,‹ was her answer: ›you have announced it in a fashion revolting to a woman's soul. You insinuate that all the frank kindness I have shown you has been a complicated, a bold, and an immodest manœuvre to ensnare a husband: you imply that at last you come here out of pity to offer me your hand, because I have courted you. Let me say this: – Your sight is jaundiced: you have seen wrong. Your mind is warped: you have judged wrong. Your tongue betrays you: you now speak wrong. I never loved you. Be at rest there. My heart is as pure of passion for you as yours is barren of affection for me.‹
    I hope I was answered, Yorke?
    ›I seem to be a blind, besotted sort of person,‹ was my remark.
    ›
Loved
you!‹ she cried. ›Why, I have been as frank with you as a sister – never shunned you – never feared you. You cannot,‹ she affirmed, triumphantly – ›you cannot make me tremble with your coming, nor accelerate my pulse by your influence.‹
    I alleged that often, when she spoke to me, she blushed, and that the sound of my name moved her.
    ›Not for
your
sake!‹ she declared, briefly: I urged explanation, but could get none.
    ›When I sat beside you at the school-feast, did you think I loved you then? When I stopped you in Maythorn-lane, did you think I loved you then? When I called on you in the counting-house – when I walked with you on the pavement – did you think I loved you then?‹
    So she questioned me; and I said I did.
    By the Lord! Yorke – she rose – she grew tall – she expanded and refined almost to flame: there was a trembling all through her, as in live coal, when its vivid vermilion is hottest.
    ›That is to say, that you have the worst opinion of me: that you deny me the possession of all I value most. That is to say, that I am a traitor to all my sisters: that I have acted as no woman can act, without degrading herself and her sex: that I have sought where the incorrupt of my kind naturally scorn and abhor to seek.‹ She and I were silent, for many a minute. ›Lucifer – Star of the Morning!‹ she went on, ›thou art fallen. You – once high in my esteem – are hurled down: you – once intimate in my friendship – are cast out. Go!‹
    I went not: I had heard her voice tremble – seen her lip quiver: I knew another storm of tears would fall; and then, I believed, some calm and some sunshine must come, and I would wait for it.
    As fast, but more quietly than before, the warm rain streamed down: there was another sound in her weeping – a softer, more regretful sound. While I watched, her eyes lifted to me a gaze more reproachful than haughty – more mournful than incensed.
    ›Oh, Moore!‹ said she: ›it was worse than Et tu, Brute!‹
    I relieved myself by what should have been a sigh, but it became a groan. A sense of Cain-like desolation made my breast ache.
    ›There has been error in what I have done,‹ I said, ›and it has won me bitter wages; which I will go and spend far from her who gave them.‹
    I took my hat. All the time, I could not have borne to depart so; and I believed she would not let me. Nor would she, but for the mortal pang I had given her pride, that cowed her compassion and kept her silent.
    I was obliged to turn back of my own accord when I reached the door, to approach her and to say,›Forgive me.‹
    ›I could, if there was not myself to forgive, too,‹ was her reply;›but to mislead a sagacious man so far, I must have done wrong.‹
    I broke out suddenly with some declamation I do not remember: I know that it was sincere, and that my wish and aim were to absolve her to herself: in fact, in her case, self-accusation was a chimera.
    At last, she extended her hand. For the first time I wished to take her in my arms and kiss her. I
did
kiss her hand many times.
    ›Some day we shall be friends again,‹ she said, ›when you have had time to read my actions and motives in a true light, and not so horribly to misinterpret them. Time may give you the right key to all: then,