"This is impossible," she said, very gravely and quietly.
"Impossible? Oh, no, no, do not say that! You cannot, you must not say that!"
"Yes, Jasper," she repeated, and her face was pallid as snow; "it is impossible."
But as I heard my doom, I arose and fought it with blind despair.
"Claire, you do not know what you are saying. You love me, Claire; you have told me so, and I love you as my very soul. Surely, then, you will not say this thing. How were we to know? How could you have told? Oh, Claire! is it that you do not love me?"
Her eyes were full of infinite compassion and tenderness, but her lips were firm and cold.
"You know that I love you."
"Then, oh, my love! how can this come between us? What does it matter that our fathers fought and killed each other, if only we love? Surely, surely Heaven cannot fix the seal of this crime upon us for ever? Speak, Claire, and tell me that you will be mine in spite of all!"
"It cannot be," she answered, very gently.
"Cannot be!" I echoed. "Then I was right, and you do not love, but fancied that you did for a while. Love, love, was that fair? No power on earth—no, nor in heaven—should have made me cast you off so."