“Can I? Is it best? Heaven direct me!”
She prayed earnestly for guidance, for, like the simple-minded people among whom she dwelt, she was a devout believer in the protecting care of heaven.
It was hard for her to decide, and still the struggle went on.
Hammond was partly sitting and reclining, and now and then gazing up in the face of the maid beside him. It seemed to him that with each look the wonderful loveliness of her face increased.
“She is beautiful—surpassingly beautiful,” he thought, as he looked, returning again and again to feast upon the vision. “No one can help admiring her; no one can deny that she is faultless in form and feature, and yet it is not that alone which has drawn me toward her. She is devoutly religious, good, and with a heart of the tenderest sympathy. I must have her; I can not live without her.”
“Yes, Lamora,” said he, sitting upright, and drawing her to him, “you must go home with me; you must be my wife; you will find nothing but kindness awaiting you; you will have the heart of your lover forever. You must; you shall go.”
The beautiful head, with its wealth of black hair, was now resting unresistingly upon his shoulder. He gently raised it, and imprinted a kiss upon the warm cheek.
“Answer me, Lamora,” he said, in the gentlest of voices, “do you love me, or do you feel indifferent toward me?”
“I love you; I can not help it!”