"This has already
progressed so far that I now owe you complete frankness. Donald Brant,
now and always, living or dead, married or single, wherever life may
take us, I shall love you."
Their eyes were meeting, but she held up her hand to restrain him from
the one step forward.
"No, no; I have confessed the truth; I have opened freely to you the
great secret of my heart. With it you must be content to leave me.
There is nothing more that I can give you, absolutely nothing. I can
never be your wife; I hope, for your sake and mine, that we never meet
again."
She did not break down, or hesitate in the utterance of these words,
although there was a piteous tremble on her lips, a pathetic appeal in
her eyes. Brant stood like a statue, his face grown white. He did not
in the least doubt her full meaning of renunciation.
"You will, at least, tell me why?" It was all that would come to his
dry lips.
She sank back upon the sofa, as though the strength had suddenly
deserted her body, her eyes shaded by an uplifted hand.
"I cannot tell you. I have no words, no courage. You will learn some
day from others, and be thankful that I loved you well enough to resist
temptation.
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