“Let me go,” I cried.
“Not like that. Not with that thought,” she said, her lips trembling.
“Let me go. I am not fit to look at you.”
“Not with that thought of me,” she repeated.
“Let me go,” I cried, for the third time passionately. “Or I will not answer for myself.”
“Not with that thought of me,” she repeated again. “I cannot. Do you really think so of me?”
“My God, how could I? I love you with my whole heart.” The avowal burst from me by an uncontrollable impulse, and I stood shaken by the vehemence of my own passion and looked for her to shrink from me.
But instead she smiled softly and with maddening sweetness as she murmured my name.
“Ah, Burgwan; now you know.”
I seized her hands to draw her to me. But this she resisted, though she left them in mine, and as I looked into her eyes I saw the tears there.