Nevertheless, the struggle in his mind was terrific.
Cecilia understood it all.
"You hate me—you despise me," she suddenly exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. "Oh! do not crush me with your contempt—do not abandon me to the conviction of your abhorrence! Reginald—take pity upon me: forgive me for loving you—forgive me—on my knees I implore you!"
She threw herself before him: she took his hand and pressed it to her lips.
She covered it with kisses.
"Cecilia," murmured the rector, making a faint effort to withdraw his hand.
"No—no, you shall not leave me thus," she exclaimed, with apparent wildness: "I should die if you went away, without telling me that you forgive me! No, you must not leave me thus!"
"Rise, Cecilia—rise—in the name of heaven, rise!" exclaimed Reginald, alarmed lest they should be discovered in that equivocal position: "rise, and I will forgive you. I will do all that you desire—I will not leave you until you are composed."
"And you will return and see me again? you will not withdraw your friendship?" demanded Cecilia, in a soft and melting tone.
"No—never, never!" cried Reginald, enthusiastically, as if he suddenly abandoned himself to the torrent of passion which now swept through his soul.