"Luke Claridge knew. The proofs are but just across the way, no doubt,"
she answered, almost coldly, so had his words congealed her heart.
Their great moment had passed. It was as though a cord had snapped that
held her to him, and in the recoil she had been thrown far off from him.
Swift as his mind worked, it had not seen his opportunity to win her to
his cause, to asphyxiate her high senses, her quixotic justice, by that
old flood of eloquence and compelling persuasion of the emotions with
which he had swept her to the altar--an altar of sacrifice. He had not
even done what he had left London to do--make sure of her, by an alluring
flattery and devotion, no difficult duty with one so beautiful and
desirable; though neither love of beauty nor great desire was strong
enough in him to divert him from his course for an hour, save by his own
initiative. His mother's letter had changed it all. A few hours before he
had had a struggle with Soolsby, and now another struggle on the same
theme was here. Fate had dealt illy with him, who had ever been its
spoiled child and favourite.
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