"No one--no one--will ever know
what he is to me--how he has helped me--while you--you have only looked
on!"
Her voice quivered. She flung out a restless arm. Instantly, yet without
haste, he took and held her hand. His fingers pressed the fevered wrist.
He spoke after a moment while he quelled her instinctive effort to free
herself. "I am not merely looking on to-night. I am here to help you--if
you will accept my help."
"You are here to torture me!" she flung back fiercely. "You are here to
force me down into hell, and lock the gates upon me!"
His hold tightened upon her. He leaned slightly towards her. "I am here
to conquer you," he said, "if you will not conquer yourself."
The sudden sternness of his speech, the compulsion of his look, took
swift effect upon her. She cowered away from him.
"You are cruel!" she whispered. "You always were cruel at heart--even in
the days when you loved me."
Sir Eustace's lips became a single, hard line. His whole strength was
bent to the task of subduing her, and he meant it to be as brief a
struggle as possible.
He said nothing whatever therefore, and so passed his only opportunity of
winning the conflict by any means save naked force.
To Isabel in her torment that night was the culmination of sorrows. For
years this brother who had once been all the world to her had held aloof,
never seeking to pass the barrier which her widowed love had raised
between them.
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