“You will forgive me,” she whispered to Gustav; “you will understand? My father! I cannot leave him. He cared so greatly for me. It would be wicked. It would be cruel. He is old. We are young. Oh, dear God, help me!” she cried, in shuddering sobs, but when her father approached to touch her, she shrank from him in a kind of dismay and repugnance.
Shaken by an answering force of agony, Gustav was on his knees before her, kissing her dress, her feet, her icy fingers. She trembled, and a wave of colour spread over her face as she stooped and pressed her hands against his wet eyes.
“Dearest, it will be worse for me,” she murmured.
“It is monstrous. I cannot, I will not accept dismissal. Youth is the time of ardent purpose and revolt. Every nerve in our bodies, every beat of our hearts must revolt against such cruelty. Your father must relent if we both join against him.”
“I will not relent. Stand up, Herr Reineke. Accept your sentence like a man, and be not less brave than a mere child.”
Thus chidden, Reineke stood up, like one struck mortally. His glance never left Inarime’s and both were filled with an unfathomable tenderness.
“Go, my daughter, to your room. This gentleman and I will start at once for Xinara.”
Inarime made a step back towards the window, her face still turned to Reineke’s, as a flower’s to the sun.
“Inarime!” cried Gustav, and in an instant she had bounded across the terrace, and was clinging to him as if for sheer life.
“You see, sir,” said Gustav, looking up triumphantly, when their lips were parted. “Love is ever conqueror.”