"Yes, the hour has come when I must tell you," he answered. "It will ease my heart. Only forgive and forget me. Oh, how am I to say good-bye to you?" he asked, sharply, looking, with desperation in his eyes, at the lovely pale face. "I have lived under the same roof with you. I have been thrown into your society day by day, yet I have kept my secret in my own heart. Now I am going away, and I will tell you the truth—I love you, Ida—I love you!"
He caught her hands in his, and she was too bewildered and dazed to withdraw them.
"You must forgive me!" he cried. "Have pity on me, if my words do not please you!"
She was carried away by his reckless impetuosity, and was too much surprised to interrupt him. She had not even recovered herself sufficiently to withdraw her hands from his. All she knew, in her bewilderment, was, that he was kneeling upon the grass at her feet, with his head bent, and that hot, passionate tears were falling from his eyes.
"I have brought you here because I could not bear the pain any longer. I must speak to you or die. I love you! Ah, Heaven knows how I love you!"
She had no power to stop the torrent of words that fell from his lips.
"You will no doubt wonder how I dare say this to you," he went on, brokenly, "but my answer is—love dares anything. It must express itself in action or words. No mortal can keep it back."
She tried to check him, but it was impossible.
"Hush—hush!" was all she could say.
"I know the gulf that lies between us," he went on: "I realize that it can never be bridged over. If I had met you first, I feel all would have ended differently. You would have loved me as I love you. I feel it—I know it."