At the moment he was not conscious of noticing especially her appearance; but long afterward he recalled it vividly. Long afterward, the pale face, the disordered golden hair, the large, dark, tearful eyes, the appealing attitude—hands stretched out toward him, face upturned—became of all his memories the strongest, the clearest, the most constant, the one on which his remorse chiefly fed.
But now, he faced her and stood dumb, aware only of hubbub in his brain, and dismay in his breast.
She, manifestly unprepared for this style of greeting, started back. Her eyes filled with fear.
“Oh Elias,” she faltered, “you—you make me think that it is true.”
He, finding his voice, cried piteously: “Oh, why—why did you come here?”
And then they were both silent.
At last she began: “I came—because I could not believe—because my father told me something which I knew was a lie. I came to have you tell me that it was a lie. Oh, why did he tell me such a cruel thing? Why—why do you act like this?”
She paused, expecting him to speak. But he did not speak.
All at once she went on passionately: “Oh, you don't know what he told me. He must have wanted to kill me. But I knew it was a lie. I told him it was a lie—oh, such a shameful, cruel lie. Oh, God! Here, this was it: he told me—he told me that you—Elias—oh, no, no, no! I can not say it. But yes, yes—I will say it—I must say it. He said that you—you did not love me any more. Oh, my God, my God!”
She had moved up toward him. Now she fell upon his breast, and sobbed her heart out.