As for Ben, he sat looking on with a consternation and amazement not to be described. He grew sick, too, and faint, and giddy with the great downfall. But he was no more able to understand her now than she had been to understand him a little while before. For some minutes he only gazed at her, his own eyes brimming over with remorse,--for was it not he who had driven her to tears? And he felt for her the tenderest longing and pity. He wanted to take her into his arms to comfort her; and would not, being too reverent to take such advantage of her distress. But he could not sit still and look on. He got up and went away to the other end of the room, shaking the whole house with his agitated steps. Then he came and knelt down before her, and touched softly the hands that covered her face.
‘Oh, Millicent,’ he cried, ‘don’t break my heart! I would rather have died than deceived you. Tell me what is the matter. Tell me what I can do. I will do anything in the world you please. It cannot be you who are poor. You ought to have everything. Oh, Millicent, say one word to me if you do not mean to break my heart!’
‘It would do no good if I were to speak,’ sobbed Millicent. ‘I have nothing to say. Go away, and never mind,--that is the best.’
‘But I will mind; and I cannot go away,’ said Ben; and he drew one of her hands from her flushed cheek, and held it fast. He ‘made her do it.’ That was what she said to herself years after when the remembrance would rankle in her mind. He made her do it. He held her hand close in his, and drew from her the story of all her woes: their debts, their destitution; her mother’s health, which was failing, the baths in Germany which she was ordered, but could not get to,--all the miserable story. She poured it out to Ben as she never would have done had he been her accepted lover,--mingling the narrative with tears, with broken sobs, with entreaties to him not to make her say more. And all the time her hand was in his,--soft, and warm, and trembling;--her eyes now raised to him with pitiful looks, now sinking in shame and distress. And there was nobody near to interfere in this humiliating scene. Even the mother, who was lingering intentionally along the streets to give full time for the explanation, would have shrunk with a pang of pride and horror from such a revelation as this. But the two were alone, and had it all their own way. Ben himself sat by Millicent’s side in a very ecstasy of tenderness and pity. If he could but have taken her in his arms, and carried her away,--away from the suffering, the trouble, the shame! Yes, he felt there was shame in it,--confusedly, painfully, with a burning red on his cheek,--and yet was intoxicated and overwhelmed by her touch, by her look, by the love he had for her. They sat together as in a trance,--passion, tenderness, trickery, mean hopes and great, shame and pride and dear love, all mingling together. Such a story to be linked on to a love-tale! such a love, veiling its face with its wings, loving the deeper to hide the shame!