human
How beautiful! echoed Cleve, in tones as low, but very different.
gpt
Yes, how beautiful--how fatally beautiful; how beloved, and yet how cold. Cold, mysterious, wild as the sea; beautiful, adored and _cruel_. How _could_ you speak as you did to-day? What have I done, or said, or thought, if you could read my thoughts? I tell you, ever since I saw you in Cardyllian church I've thought only of you; you haunt my steps; you inspire my hopes. I adore you, Margaret.
human
Yes, I _adore_ you; I don't know what fate or fiend rules these things; but to-day it seemed to me that you hated me, and yet I adore you; _do_ you hate me?
gpt
How wildly you talk; you can't love me; you don't know me,
human
I don't know you, and yet I love you; you don't know _me_, and yet I think you _hate_ me. You talk of love as if it were a creation of reason and calculation. You don't know it, or you could not speak so; antipathies perhaps you do not experience; is there no caprice in _them_? I love you _in defiance_ of calculation, and of reason, and of hope itself. I can no more help loving you than the light and air without which I should die. You're not going; you're not _so_ cruel; it may be the last time you shall ever hear me speak. You won't believe me; no, not a word I say, although it's all as true as that this light shines from heaven. You'd believe one of your boatmen relating any nonsense he pleases about people and places here. You'll believe worse fellows, I dare say, speaking of higher and dearer things, _perhaps_--I can't tell; but _me_, on _this_, upon which I tell you, _all_ depends for me, you won't believe. I never loved any mortal before. I did not know what it was, and now here I stand, telling you my bitter story, telling it to the sea, and the rocks, and the air, with as good a chance of a hearing. I read it in your manner and your words to-day. I felt it intuitively. You don't care for me; you can't like me; I see it in your looks. And now, will you tell me; for God's sake, Margaret, do tell me--is there not some one--you _do_ like? I know there is.
gpt
That's _quite_ untrue--I mean there is _nothing_ of the kind, said this young lady, looking very pale, with great flashing eyes;
human
she called,
gpt
We are so much obliged to you, Mr. Verney, said Miss Sheckleton, returning;