They had argued, analysed, plotted, and planned, only to find that each road they launched out upon full of hope, terminated in the blind alley of the old man's power over the girl.
"I've just got to go through with it," said Leonie, "there is simply no way out."
The man caught both hands in his.
"Dear heaven, how I love you, child! How I long to pick you up, as I did all those years ago, and carry you out of all this to happiness. Leonie! Leonie! You must marry me, I love you so."
And she had sat quite still, not daring to move for fear of the mighty passion which surged about her.
Yes! Quite true! They had only met twice; but there is a certain kind of love, exceeding rare it's true in Europe, which from an infinitesimal seed is capable in one second of blossoming into a tree, fruit and all, in the shade of which you can sit content until your life's end.
It simply sprouts all over the East.
Wishing to prevent a conflagration Leonie spoke quite calmly as she withdrew her hands.
"And I couldn't marry you, even if I were free, because—at times—as I have just told you—they say that I—I—am not responsible for my actions? I'm—I'm supposed to be——"
"Be quiet!"