The first day--it was the day he
took me on the lake--ah, you don't remember, but I--Shall I ever forget
it!--the first day my heart went out to him I tried to call it back, to
laugh at my weakness, to call myself a fool! And I thought I had
succeeded in driving the insidious feeling away. But I was wrong. It
was there in my heart already, and day by day, as I saw him, as I heard
him speak, the thing grew until I could not see him cross the lawn,
hear him speak to the dog, without thrilling, without shivering,
shuddering! Father, have pity on me! No, I won't ask for pity! I won't
have it! But I ask, I demand, sympathy, your help! Father," she drew
nearer to him and looked into his eyes with an awful look of
desperation, of broken pride, of the aching craving of love, "you must
help me. I love him, I must be his wife--I cannot live without him, I
will not!"
He paled and gnawed at his thick lip.
"You talk like a madwoman," he said, hoarsely.
She nodded.
"Yes, I am mad; I know it; I know it! But I shall never be sane again.
All my days and all my nights are consumed in this madness. I think of
him--I call up his face--ah!" She flung her hands before her face and
swayed to and fro as if she were half dazed, half giddy with passion.
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