The tone touched her more deeply than the words.
“I do not know. I am trying not to reason. I have worn myself out with reasoning. You are very still, but I know that this time is terrible to you; as terrible as last year was to me! Believe me, I am not lightly keeping you in suspense. Truly I can not decide. There is some hindrance; I do not know what it is.”
“I do not wish to hurry you; you shall have a year to decide if you prefer. It is very sudden to you; you need time and quiet to recover from the shock; you are very much shaken. You are not as strong as you were two years ago. The strain has been too great for you; when you have decided once for all time and all eternity, your eyes will look as they looked two years ago. All I ask you is be sure of yourself! I promise not to trouble you for a year; I am sorry to be troubling you now. Are you very unhappy?”
She was trembling and almost crying.
“You shall not answer me, or think of answering me until you are ready; I deserve to suffer; I do not fear the issue of your self-analysis; when you have recovered from the shock and can feel that you have forgiven me, then you will know whether you love me, whether you trust me. Will you write to me?”
“No, sir.”
He laughed in spite of his vexation; she resented the laugh; he was altogether too sure of his power.
“You must not be so sure,” she began.
“I shall be just as sure as—you please.”
“You think that I am very perplexing.”