The golden head dropped forward and fell on his breast, her hands clung to him with almost despairing pain.
"I will be so humble, darling. I can keep away from all observation. It is only to be with you that I wish--only to be near you. You cannot be hard--you cannot send me away; you will not, for I love you!"
Her hands clung more closely to him.
"Many men have forgiven their wives even great crimes, and have taken them back after the basest desertion. Overlook my father's crime and pardon me, for Heaven's dear sake!"
"My dearest Madaline, if you would but understand! I have nothing to pardon. You are sweetest, dearest, loveliest, best. You are one of the purest and noblest of women. I have nothing to pardon; it is only that I cannot take disgrace into my family. I cannot give to my children an inheritance of crime." "But, Norman," said the girl, gently, "because my father was a felon, that does not make me one--because he was led into wrong, it does not follow that I must do wrong. Insanity may be hereditary, but surely crime is not; besides, I have heard my father say that his father was an honest, simple, kindly northern farmer. My father had much to excuse him. He was a handsome man, who had been flattered and made much of."
"My darling I could not take your hands into mine and kiss them so, if I fancied that they were ever so slightly tainted with sin."
"Then why not take me home. Norman?"
"I cannot," he replied, in a tone of determination. "You must not torture me, Madaline, with further pleading. I cannot--that is sufficient."
He rose and walked with rapid steps down the shore. How bard it was, how terrible--bitter almost as the anguish of death!
She was by his side again, walking in silence. He would bare given the whole world if he could have taken her into his arms and have kissed back the color into her sad young face.