"It is not."
"You are not the baron?" cried Amy.
"No; I will swear it if you wish."
"Who, then, are you?"
"Shall I confess?"
"Yes, I entreat you."
"Remember, you command me to speak."
"I do. Who are you?"
"Your lover."
The words were breathed into her ear as softly as ardently, but they
startled her so much she could find no reply, and, throwing himself
down before her, Casimer poured out his passion with an impetuosity
that held her breathless.
"Yes, I love you, and I tell it, vain and dishonorable as it is in one
like me. I try to hide it. I say 'it cannot be.' I plan to go away.
But you keep me; you are angel-good to me; you take my heart, you care
for me, teach me, pity me, and I can only love and die. I know it is
folly; I ask nothing; I pray to God to bless you always, and I say,
Go, go, before it is too late for you, as now for me!"
"Yes, I must go--it is all wrong. Forgive me. I have been very
selfish. Oh, forget me and be happy," faltered Amy, feeling that her
only safety was in flight.
"Go! go!" he cried, in a heart-broken tone, yet still kissed and clung
to her hands till she tore them away and fled into the house.
Helen missed her soon after she went, but could not follow for several
minutes; then went to their chamber and there found Amy drowned in
tears, and terribly agitated.
Soon the story was told with sobs and moans, and despairing
lamentations fit to touch a heart of stone.
"I do love him--oh, I do; but I didn't know it till he was so unhappy,
and now I've done this dreadful harm. He'll die, and I can't help him,
see him, or be anything to him. Oh, I've been a wicked, wicked girl,
and never can be happy any more."
Angry, perplexed, and conscience-stricken, for what now seemed blind
and unwise submission to the major, Helen devoted herself to calming
Amy, and when at last the poor, broken-hearted little soul fell asleep
in her arms, she pondered half the night upon the still unsolved
enigma of the Baron Sigismund.