“Miriam, do you love me?”
“Marcus, may Christ forgive me, I do.”
“Miriam, how much?”
“Marcus, as much as a woman may love a man.”
“And yet,” he broke out bitterly, “you bid me begone because I am not a Christian.”
“Because my faith is more than my love. I must offer my love upon the altar of my faith—or, at the least,” she added hurriedly, “I am bound by a rope that cannot be cut or broken. To break it would bring down upon your head and mine the curse of Heaven and of my parents, who are its inhabitants.”
“And if I became of your faith?”
Her whole face lit up, then suddenly its light died.
“It is too much to hope. This is not a question of casting incense on an altar; it is a matter of a changed spirit and a new life. Oh! have done. Why do you play with me?”
“A changed spirit and a new life. At the best that would take time.”