Before he can finish she has plucked it off, and drawing herself up to full height, says in bitter retort—
“You insult me, sir! Take it back!” With the words, the gemmed circlet is flung upon the little rustic table, from which it rolls off.
He has not been prepared for such abrupt issue, though his rude speech tempted it. Somewhat sorry, but still too exasperated to confess or show it, he rejoins, defiantly:—
“If you wish it to end so, let it!”
“Yes; let it!”
They part without further speech. He, being nearest the door, goes out first, taking no heed of the diamond cluster which lies sparkling upon the floor.
Neither does she touch, or think of it. Were it the Koh-i-noor, she would not care for it now. A jewel more precious—the one love of her life is lost—cruelly crushed—and, with heart all but breaking, she sinks down upon the bench, draws the shawl over her face, and weeps till its rich silken tissue is saturated with her tears.
The wild spasm passed, she rises to her feet, and stands leaning upon the baluster rail, looking out and listening. Still dark, she sees nothing; but hears the stroke of a boat’s oars in measured and regular repetition—listens on till the sound becomes indistinct, blending with the sough of the river, the sighing of the breeze, and the natural voices of the night.
She may never hear his voice, never look on his face again!
At the thought she exclaims, in anguished accent, “This the ending! It is too—”