He could endure the doubt no longer. And, in a softer and more humble voice,
"Now, then," he said, "you know the measure of my sin—the extent of my falsehood. All the ill of my tale is told, faithfully, frankly. What remains, is unmixed with evil. Say, then; have I sinned, Julia, beyond the hope of forgiveness? If to confess that, my eyes dazzled with beauty, my blood inflamed with wine, my better self drowned in a tide of luxury unlike aught I had ever known before, my senses wrought upon by every art, and every fascination—if to confess, that my head was bewildered, my reason lost its way for a moment—though my heart never, never failed in its faith—and by the hopes, frail hopes, which I yet cling to of obtaining you—the dread of losing you for ever! Julia, by these I swear, my heart never did fail or falter! If, I say, to confess this be sufficient, and I stand thus condemned and lost for ever, spare me the rest—I may as well be silent!"
She paused a moment, ere she answered; and it was only with an effort, choking down a convulsive sob, that she found words at all.
"Proceed," she said, "with your tale. I cannot answer you."
But, catching at her words, with all the elasticity of [pg 231]youthful hope, he fancied that she had answered him, and cried joyously and eagerly—
"Sweet Julia, then you can, you will forgive me."
"I have not said so, Paullus," she began. But he interrupted her, ere she could frame her sentence—
"No! dearest; but your speech implied it, and—"
But here, in her turn, she interrupted him, saying—
"Then, Paullus, did my speech imply what I did not intend. For I have not forgiven—do not know if I can forgive, all that has passed. All depends on that which is to come. You made me promise not to interrupt your tale. I have not done so; and, in justice, I have the right to ask that you should tell it out, before you claim my final answer. So I say, once again, Proceed."