And yet
she could not answer him roughly, for he was evidently in earnest.
She said nothing, therefore, but left her hand in his. His love,
which had been as fierce and strong as ever, even while he had
doubted her faith, began to take new proportions of which he had
never dreamt. He felt like a man struggling with death in some
visible and tangible shape.
"Is it all over? Will you never love me again?" he asked hoarsely.
Her averted face told no tale, and still her fingers lay inert
between his broad hands. She knew how he suffered, and yet she
would not soothe him with the delusive hope for which he longed so
intensely.
"For God's sake, Corona, speak to me! Is there never to be any
love again? Can you never forgive me?"
"Ah, dear, I have forgiven you wholly--there is not an unkind
thought left in my heart for you!" She turned and laid the hand
that was free upon his shoulder, looking into his face with an
expression that was almost imploring. "Do not think it is that,
oh, not that! I would forgive you again, a thousand times--"
"And love me?" he cried, throwing his arms round her neck, and
kissing her passionately again and again. But suddenly he drew
back, for there was no response to his caresses. He turned very
pale as he saw the look in her eyes.
Pages:
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398