"It is my life!" he repeated. "If you send me from you, Pauline, I shall be a desperate, wicked man."
"You should not be so," she remarked, gently; "a great love, even if it be unfortunate, should ennoble a man, not make him wicked."
"Pauline," he entreated, "you must unsay those words. Think that you might learn to love me in time. I will be patient—I will wait long years for you—I will do anything to win you; only give me some hope that in time to come you will be mine."
"I cannot," she said; "it would be so false. I could never love you, Captain Langton."
He raised his face to hers.
"Will you tell me why? You do not reject me because I am poor—you are too noble to care for wealth. It is not because I am a soldier, with nothing to offer you but a loving heart. It is not for these things. Why do you reject me, Pauline?"
"No, you are right; it is not for any of those reasons; they would never prevent my being your wife if I loved you."
"Then why can you not love me?" he persisted.
"For many reasons. You are not at all the style of man I could love. How can you doubt me? Here you are wooing me, asking me to be your wife, offering me your love, and my hand does not tremble, my heart does not beat; your words give me no pleasure, only pain; I am conscious of nothing but a wish to end the interview. This is not love, is it, Captain Langton?"
"But in time," he pleaded—"could you not learn to care for me in time?"