A thousand questions flashed through my mind, but I did not ask them; there was only one question which I longed to ask, a question which embraced everything.
Still we did not speak; we remained looking in each other's eyes, as if each were trying to find what we looked for.
Then I saw the tears well up, saw them trickle down her cheeks, saw her lips quiver, and then she could no longer hold back her words.
"Don't you know, don't you know?" she sobbed.
I held out my arms, and a second later our lips met, and we were uttering incoherent words which none but those who know the language of the heart can interpret.
"You know now, don't you?" she said at length.
"Yes, I know," I said.
And yet it was all a wonder to me. When last I had spoken to her an invisible barrier stood between us. I had admired her beauty, her keen intelligence; I thought, too, that I saw wondrous possibilities in her nature; but I did not love her. Something, I knew not what, forbade that love. I had told her so, told her that I did not love her, that I only loved the woman she ought to be. Now it seemed as though a magician's hand had swept away the barrier; that some divine power had illumined her life and filled it with a new and divine element. I saw her ennobled, glorified; the old repellent look had gone; those eyes which had flashed with scorn were now filled with infinite tenderness. Why was it? And what had wrought the change?
Presently she lifted her head, and I saw a look of fear come into her eyes.
"You said you didn't love me; is that true?"