"I pity thee! Have I room in my heart for pity of any save myself?"
"Thou shouldst have for one more miserable than thou."
"That cannot be; and why shouldst thou need pity?"
"Because thou art sorrowful, and I can give thee no help. Is not that reason enough?"
Elinor stopped and looked at him with wide, half-seeing eyes, striving to force herself to put aside her own trouble enough to realize that of another.
"Do not!" she cried, stretching out defensive hands, "do not tell me that I have made someone else wretched too! My life seems destined to be a calamity to all who fall within its fateful shadow."
"No; speak no such sad words," cried Ingle, falling on his knees before her. "To me your presence has been pure sunshine; but were life all shadow, I would rather live under the clouds with thee than in the light of heaven itself without thee."
"Forgive me!" answered Elinor, wearily, brushing her hand across her eyes. "It is idle to talk thus. I loved—I love—Christopher Neville, and I cannot listen to any other."
"My words were untimely; I spoke too soon."