"No, no." Smiling. "Would you have me break through all my resolution? Be faithful to me, Teddy, and I will be faithful to you. Here,"—lifting her hands to her neck,—"I am not half satisfied with that stupid lock of hair: it may fall out, or you may lose it some way. Take this little chain"—loosening it from round her throat and giving it to him—"and wear it next your heart until we meet again,—if indeed"—sighing—"we ever do meet again. Does not all this sound like the sentiment of a hundred years ago? But do not laugh at me: I mean it."
"I will do as you bid me," replies he, kissing the slender chain as though it were some sacred relic,—and as such, indeed, he regards it,—while ready tears spring to his eyes. "It and I shall never part."
"Well, good-bye really now," she says, with quivering lips. "I feel more cheerful, more hopeful. I don't feel as if—I were going to cry—another tear." With this she breaks into a perfect storm of tears, and tearing herself from his embrace, runs away from him down the avenue out of sight of his longing eyes.
CHAPTER XXXII.
"Why, look you, how you storm!
I would be friends with you, and have your love."
—Merchant of Venice.
"She is indeed perfection."
—Othello.