“Why, Zana, are you wild? How should I ever think of another, and he in my heart always?”
“He—who? Speak, girl, or I shall indeed be wild!”
“You act very strangely, Zana. Only now you told me that you had seen Mr. Morton, and talked with him; you gave so many painful hints about him.”
I seized her hands again, and forced down the tremulous hope in my heart.
“Cora, darling Cora,” I said, interrupting my words with quick gasps of breath, that I had no power to stifle, “tell me clearly, use few words, or my heart will break with this suspense. Was the man with whom you left Greenhurst Henry Morton?”
My emotion terrified her. She grew pale, and struggled to free her hands.
“You know it was; are you going crazy? My fingers—my fingers, you crush them.”
“And it was Morton?”
“Yes—yes!”
“And you have no love for Irving? He never said, never hinted that he wished you to love him?”