Her hands grew motionless on the keys, and she looked round. Then she rose slowly, like a ghost, her face growing whiter and whiter, her eyes dilating, and "Yorke" breathed from her parted lips.
"Leslie!" he said again. "Oh, Leslie!" and he held out his arms to her.
She seemed to struggle against the potent influence he exerted, then she came nearer, swaying a little, like one walking in her sleep.
"Oh, my darling, my darling, is it you? Really you?" he said in a subdued voice, as if he feared to startle, frighten her.
She was almost in his arms, her bosom heaving, her lips quivering, when she seemed to remember; and with a cry, the saddest he had ever heard, she swayed away from him, extending one hand as if to keep him off.
He caught the hand, and held it in a grasp like that of a vice.
"You shrink from me, Leslie? Oh, my dearest—to shrink from me!"
She seemed to struggle for voice, and found it at last.
"Why—why have you come?" she breathed.
"Why have you hidden from me?" he responded, and there was almost a touch of indignation in the earnest, pleading voice. "Why did you do it, Leslie? Oh, God, if you knew what I have suffered——."