Philippa broke it.
"Surely you, in common with all of us, admire the Puritan maiden,
Norman?"
"Yes, I do admire her," he answered; "she is one of my favorite
heroines."
"So she is of mine; and I love her the more for the womanly outburst of
honest truth that triumphed over all conventionality. Norman, what she,
the 'loveliest maiden in Plymouth,' the beloved of Miles Standish, said
to John Alden, I say to you--'Why don't you speak for yourself?'"
There was infinite tenderness in his face as he bent over her--infinite
pain in his voice as he spoke to her.
"John Alden loved Priscilla," he said, slowly--"she was the one woman in
all the world for him--his ideal--his fate, but I--oh Philippa, how I
hate myself because I cannot answer you differently! You are my friend,
my sister, but not the woman I must love as my wife."
"When you urged me a few minutes since to marry your friend, you asked
me why I could not love him, seeing that he had all lovable qualities.
Norman, why can you not love me?"
"I can answer you only in the same words--I do not know. I love you with
as true an affection as ever man gave to woman; but I have not for you a
lover's love.
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