--"But I shall always love you. Something has gone out of me--is it my
heart?--and I can never take it back from you. Perhaps you may grow
tired of me--it may be. I have read and heard of such things happening
to women--you may see someone more beautiful than Miss Falconer,
someone who will lead you to forget the little girl who rode through
the rain in Herondale. If so, there will be no need to tell me; no need
to make excuses, or ask for forgiveness. There would be no need to tell
me, for something here"--she drew her hand from his and touched her
bosom--"would tell me. You would only have to keep away from me--that
is all. And I--ah well I should be silent, quite silent."
"Dearest!" he murmured, reproachfully, and with something like awe, for
her brows were knit, her face was pale as ivory, and her eyes glowed.
"Why do you say this now, just as--as we have confessed our love for
each other? Do you think I shall be faithless? I could almost laugh! As
if any man you deigned to love could ever forget you, ever care a straw
for any other woman!"
She turned to him with a shudder, a little cry that was tragic in its
intensity, turned to him and clenched her small hands on his breast.
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