You want me to succeed, Margret? No
one ever understood me as you did, child though you were."
Her whole face glowed.
"I know! I know! I did understand you!"
She said, lower, after a little while,--
"I knew you did not love her."
"There is no such thing as love in real life," he said, in his
steeled voice. "You will know that, when you grow older. I used
to believe in it once, myself."
She did not speak, only watched the slow motion of his lips, not
looking into his eyes,--as she used to do in the old time.
Whatever secret account lay between the souls of this man and
woman came out now, and stood bare on their faces.
"I used to think that I, too, loved," he went on, in his low,
hard tone. "But it kept me back, Margret, and"----
He was silent.
"I know, Stephen. It kept you back"----
"And I put it away. I put it away to-night, forever."
She did not speak; stood quite quiet, her head bent on her
breast. His conscience was clear now. But he almost wished he
had not said it, she was such a weak, sickly thing. She sat down
at last, burying her face in her hands, with a shivering sob. He
dared not trust him self to speak again.
"I am not proud,--as a woman ought to be," she said, wearily,
when he wiped her clammy forehead.
"You loved me, then?" he whispered.
Her face flashed at the unmanly triumph; her puny frame started
up, away from him.
"I did love you, Stephen. I did love you,-- as you might be, not
as you are,--not with those inhuman eyes.
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