"Mollie," the doctor said, beseechingly, "don't be so obstinately set
against me. You weren't, you know, until I removed my disguise. I'm no
worse now than I was before."
"I never thought it was you," Mollie said, in a voice of still despair.
"Oh, yes, you did. You dreaded it was me--you hoped it was that puppy,
Ingelow, confound him! Why, Mollie, he doesn't care for you one tithe
of what I do. See what I have risked for you--reputation, liberty,
everything that man holds dear."
"And you shall lose them yet," Mollie said, between her clinched teeth.
"I have made myself a felon to obtain you, Mollie. I love you better
than myself--than anything in the world. You are my wife--be my wife,
and forgive me."
"Never!" cried Mollie passionately, raising her arm aloft with a gesture
worthy of Siddons or Ristori; "may I never be forgiven when I die if I
do! I could kill you this moment, as I would a rat, if I had it in my
power, and with as little compunction. I hate you--I hate you--I hate
you! How I hate you words are too poor and weak to tell!"
"Of course," said the doctor, with ineffable calm: "it's perfectly
natural just now.
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