"No!" he cried swiftly. "Not your pity—nor your charity, neither!"
Colina fumbled weakly with the latch—and her hand dropped from it.
"Why don't you go?" he cried sharply. "I can't stand it. I know you hate me. I tell myself that every minute. Be honest and show you hate me, not act sorry!"
"I do not hate you," she whispered.
He faced her with a kind of terror in his eyes. "For God's sake, go!" he cried. "You're building up a hope in me—it will kill me if it comes to nothing! I can't stand any more. Go!"
His amazed eyes beheld her come falteringly toward him, reaching out her hands.
"Ambrose—I—I can't!" she whispered.
He caught her in his arms.
Colina broke into a little tempest of weeping, and clung to him like a child. He held her close, stroking her hair and murmuring clumsy, broken phrases of comfort.
"Don't! My dear love, don't grieve so! It's all right now. I can't bear to have you hurt."