“Don’t touch me!” cried Emilia, showing terror.

“Are you not mine?”

“You must not kiss me.”

Wilfrid loosened her waist, and became in a minute outwardly most cool and courteous.

“My successor may object.  I am bound to consider him.  Pardon me.  Once!—­”

The wretched insult and silly emphasis passed harmlessly from her:  but a word had led her thoughts to Merthyr’s face, and what is meant by the phrase ‘keeping oneself pure,’ stood clearly in Emilia’s mind.  She had not winced; and therefore Wilfrid judged that his shot had missed because there was no mark.  With his eye upon her sideways, showing its circle wide as a parrot’s, he asked her one of those questions that lovers sometimes permit between themselves.  “Has another—?” It is here as it was uttered.  Eye-speech finished the sentence.

Rapidly a train of thought was started in Emilia, and she came to this conclusion, aloud:  “Then I love nobody!” For the had never kissed Merthyr, or wished for his kiss.

“You do not?” said Wilfrid, after a silence.  “You are generous in being candid.”

A pressure of intensest sorrow bowed his head.  The real feeling in him stole to Emilia like a subtle flame.

“Oh! what can I do for you?” she cried.

“Nothing, if you do not love me,” he was replying mournfully, when, “Yes! yes!” rushed to his lips; “marry me:  marry me to-morrow.  You have loved me.  ‘I am never to leave you!’ Can you forget the night when you said it?  Emilia!  Marry me and you will love me again.  You must.  This man, whoever he is—­Ah! why am I such a brute!  Come! be mine!  Let me call you my own darling!  Emilia!—­or say quietly ’you have nothing to hope for:’  I shall not reproach you, believe me.”

He looked resigned.  The abrupt transition had drawn her eyes to his.  She faltered:  “I cannot be married.”  And then:  “How could I guess that you felt in this way?”

“Who told me that I should?” said he.  “Your words have come true.  You predicted that I should fly from ‘that woman,’ as you called her, and come to you.  See! here it is exactly as you willed it.  You—­you are changed.  You throw your magic on me, and then you are satisfied, and turn elsewhere.”

Emilia’s conscience smote her with a verification of this charge, and she trembled, half-intoxicated for the moment, by the aspect of her power.  This filled her likewise with a dangerous pity for its victim; and now, putting out both hands to him, her chin and shoulders raised entreatingly, she begged the victim to spare her any word of marriage.

“But you go, you run away from me—­I don’t know where you are or what you are doing,” said Wilfrid.  “And you leave me to that woman.  She loves the Austrians, as you know.  There!  I will ask nothing—­only this:  I will promise, if I quit the Queen’s service for good, not to wear the white uniform—­”