"Oh, yes, yes; tell me, then, that the intoxicating, invincible sentiment that invades me at this moment is gratitude; tell me that nothing is more sacred, more holy and legitimate, than what I feel. A woman has certainly the right to devote her life to him who has restored her child to her, more especially when he, as generous as he is considerate, has never attempted to say one word of his hopes; therefore, is it not for her—for her—to come to him, and ask with joy, with pride, How can I ever reward so much love?"
"By returning it!" I exclaimed.
"By confessing that I have always returned it," said Catherine, in a subdued voice.
And her hands languorously fell into mine.
THE GROVE, 16th May, 18—.
Woe! Woe!
Since yesterday I have not seen her. Doctor Ralph arrived last night. He found her in great danger. He attributed this devouring fever, this terrible delirium, to reaction from the anguish which the unfortunate woman had repressed during her child's illness.
He does not know all.
Ah, her remorse must be terrible! How she must suffer, and I am not there, by her side,—and I cannot be there.
Ah, yes, I love her, I love her with all my strength. This intoxicating memory, which yesterday made me almost frenzied with love, to-day I curse it!