Zuleime sat silent for a long time, enveloped by Catherine’s arms, and leaning upon her shoulder. At last Kate whispered—
“Dear Zuleime, confide in me, and relieve your overburdened bosom. A secret is so hard to keep alone in a sorrowful breast. Lay yours on my heart, Zuleime, and it shall be safer there than my own life. Tell me—what tie is it that binds you to Frank?”
“Hush, oh, hush!”
“Tell me, darling—you know it is not from curiosity I ask—it is that I wish you to relieve your heart.”
“Hush! I promised him not to tell.”
“Death absolves you from that promise. A painful secret is very hard to keep alone. I know it, dearest, for I, too, have a secret. Now will you trust me?”
“Hush! hush! It was his last request—I must comply with it!” said the girl, with wild eyes.
Catherine knelt down before her, clasped her arms around her, and partly to win her confidence, and partly to draw her mind from dwelling upon the wo that was crazing her, said:—
“Zuleime, look at me. I am going to tell you my secret, that which it will pain and humble my heart to tell!—that which it makes my cheek burn now only to think of! Zuleime, I love a man who never sought, and who would despise my love! And with whom it is forever and forever impossible that I should marry. Yet I love him so much—so much, that my heart is ready to burst with its powerless longing to do him some good! Zuleime, I would give him myself—(nay, never mind my cheek burning—I will speak in spite of its protest)—or any dearest faculty or possession of mine, if it only could increase his happiness. Zuleime, there is a richness and fullness of joy in sacrificing one’s self for one we love that passes all understanding.”
“I know there is,” breathed the mourner, looking down in her face seriously.