“I did not expect you to come, Michael,” she said, “when I saw the news. I did not mean to come here myself. But—but I had to. I had just to find out whether you wouldn’t see me, and let me tell you how sorry I am.”
He smiled at her as they stood facing each other.
“Thank you for coming,” he said; “I’m so glad you came. But I had to be alone just a little.”
“I didn’t do wrong?” she asked.
“Indeed you didn’t. I did wrong not to come to you. I loved Francis, you see.”
Already the shadow threatened again. It was just the fact that he loved Francis that had made it impossible for him to go to her, and he could not explain that. And as the shadow began to fall she gave a little shudder.
“Oh, Michael, I know you did,” she said. “It’s just that which concerns us, that and my sympathy for you. He was such a dear. I only saw him, I know, once or twice, but from that I can guess what he was to you. He was a brother to you—a—a—Hermann.”
Michael felt, with Sylvia’s hand in his, they were both running desperately away from the shadow that pursued them. Desperately he tried with her to evade it. But every word spoken between them seemed but to bring it nearer to them.
“I only came to say that,” she said. “I had to tell you myself, to see you as I told you, so that you could know how sincere, how heartfelt—”
She stopped suddenly.