"It can't be so very terrible."
"It is," she told him in distress.
He was silent a moment; then very suddenly he moved, put his arm around
her, drew her close. "What is it, my elf? Tell me!" he whispered.
She hid her face against him with a little sob. It was odd, but at that
moment she felt no fear of the man. He, whose fiery caresses had once
appalled her, had by some means unknown possessed himself of her
confidence so that she could not keep him at a distance. She did not even
wish to do so.
After a few seconds, quiveringly she began to speak. "I don't know how to
tell you. It's an awful thing to tell. You know, I--I've never been happy
at home. My mother never liked me,--was often cruel to me." She shuddered
suddenly and violently. "I never knew why--till that awful night--the
last time I saw her. And then--and then she told me." She drew a little
closer to him like a frightened child.
He held her against his breast. She was trembling all over. "Well?" he
said gently.
Desperately she forced herself to continue. "I don't belong to--to my
father--at all; only--only--to her."
"What?" he said.
She buried her shamed face a little deeper. "That was why--she married,"
she whispered.
"Your mother herself told you that?" Sir Eustace's voice was very low,
but there was in it a danger-note that made her quail.
Someone was coming along the garden-path, but neither of them heard.
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