It is not for myself I speak. There is no hope for me. I know that—I feel that—I am sure of it; nor, to tell you the truth, am I sorry—
Not sorry George—
No—for even as you are, so am I—weary of this world—sick and weary of life.
Her head sunk upon his shoulder, and her breathing was that of one who struggles with deep emotion.
No—no—it is not for myself that I speak. It is for you—
For me—
For you and for Elizabeth—
For me and for Elizabeth?—well—
And if I could bring you to do what I am persuaded you both may do without reproach, there would be hope still for—for Elizabeth—and for you—
For Elizabeth—and for me?—O George, George! what hope is there now for me? What have I to do on earth, now that we are a——she stopped with a shudder—I too am tired of life. She withdrew the hand which till now he had been holding to his heart with a strong terrible pressure.