"Clara," said her husband solemnly, with a strange light in his eyes, "I would rather kill you than divorce you!"
There was something so terribly earnest in his tone that her heart beat fast with fear.
"Kill me?—kill me?" she gasped, with white lips.
"Yes!" he repeated, "kill you,—as a Frenchman or an Italian would,—and take the consequences. Yes—though an Englishman, I would rather do this than drag your frail poor womanhood through the mire of public scandal! I have, perhaps, a strange nature, but such as I am, I am. There are too many of our high-born families already, flaunting their immorality and low licentiousness in the face of the mocking, grinning populace,—I for one could never make up my mind to fling the honor of my son's mother to them, as though it were a bone for dogs to fight over. No—I have another proposition to make to you—"
He stopped short. She stared at him wonderingly. He resumed in methodical, unmoved, business-like tones.
"I propose, Clara, simply,—to leave you! I'll take the boy and absent myself from this country, so as to give you perfect freedom and save you all trouble. There'll be no possibility of scandal, for I will keep you cognizant of my movements,—and should you require my presence at any time for the sake of appearances,—or—to shield you from calumny,—you may rely on my returning to you at once,—without delay. Ernest will gain many advantages by travel,—his education is quite a sufficient motive for my departure, my interest in his young life being well known to all our circle. Moreover, with me—under my surveillance—he need never know anything against—against you. I have always taught him to honor and obey you in his heart."
Lord Winsleigh paused a moment—then went on, somewhat musingly;—"When he was quite little, he used to wonder why you didn't love him,—it was hard for me to hear him say that, sometimes. But I always told him that you did love him—but that you had so many visits to makes and so many friends to entertain, that you had no time to play with him. I don't think he quite understood,—but still—I did my best!"
He was silent. She had hidden her face again in her hands, and he heard a sound of smothered sobbing.
"I think," he continued calmly, "that he has a great reverence for you in his young heart—a feeling which partakes, perhaps, more of fear than love—still it is better than—disdain—or—or disrespect. I shall always teach him to esteem you highly,—but I think, as matters stand—if I relieve you of all your responsibilities to husband and son—you—Clara!—pray don't distress yourself—there's no occasion for this—Clara—"
For on a sudden impulse she had flung herself at his feet in an irrepressible storm of passionate weeping.