"Gracious God!" said Argyle, "how you torment me! If," he proceeded, after pausing, "if you have ceased to love me,—if—if you are disgusted——"
I was silent.
"Do speak! pray, pray!" said he.
His agitation astonished me. It almost stopped his breathing. "This man," thought I, "is either very nervous or he loves me just as I want to be loved." I had my hand on the door, to leave him. He took hold of me, and threw me from it with some violence; locked it and snatched the key out; took me in his arms and pressed me with almost savage violence against his breast.
"By heavens!" said he, "you shall not torture me so another moment."
This wildness frightened me. "He is going to kill me," thought I. I fixed my eyes on his face, to try and read my doom. Our eyes met, he pushed me gently from him, and burst into tears.
My jealousy was at an end, au moins pour le moment.
"I am not tired of you, dear Lorne," said I, kissing him eagerly. "How is it possible to be so? Dear Lorne, forgive me?"
Nothing was so bright nor so brilliant as Lorne's smile through a tear. In short, Lorne's expression of countenance, I say it now, when I neither esteem, nor love, nor like him, his expression, I say, is one of the finest things in nature.
Our reconciliation was completed, in the usual way.