"But is it dead?" persists he, eagerly.
"Quite. I buried it that day you took me—to his—rooms: you remember?"
"How could I forget? Clarissa, if you are unhappy, so am I. Take pity upon me."
"You unhappy?" She lifts her eyes to his.
"Yes. All my life I have loved you. Is your heart quite beyond my reach?"
She makes him no answer.
"Without you I live but half a life," he goes on, entreatingly. "Every hour is filled with thoughts of you. I have no interests apart from you. Clarissa, if there is any hope for me, speak; say something."
"Would not his memory be a shadow between us always?" whispers she, in trembling accents. "Forgiveness is within our power, forgetfulness is beyond us! Jim, is this thing wise, that you are doing? Have you thought of it?"
"I have thought of it for more than a long year," says Sir James. "I think all my life, unconsciously, I have loved you."
"For so long?" she says, softly; and then, "How faithful you have been!"