“If you could think of yourself what would you do?” I asked again.
“I answer as I did just now—why put that idle question to me?”
I paused and then plunged.
“Because—I love you, Gatrina.”
“No, no, no; any answer but that; give any reason but that,” she cried, as the red flushed into her cheeks till they flamed, and she sank back in her seat and hid them from me with her trembling hands.
I knelt by her side.
“It is the truth, Gatrina; why should I not say it? Once before our hearts spoke. You remember that day on the hill at Samac. We knew it then; what need to hide it now? It is all in all to me. What is it to you?”
“No, no, no,” she murmured hurriedly. She was trembling violently. “It is impossible. It is impossible. I told you then.”
“That is just what it is not now, whatever it may have seemed then. It is true I am only a——”
“Hsh!” Just a whisper and a hand laid impulsively upon mine, and a glance of reproach from tender, loving eyes.