'Duty!' he cried, and sprang to his feet. 'Duty is not what I ask for. I know you will do your duty—as an angel of God will do his duty. But I ask for, and must have—love.'
'I cannot, I cannot,' she said, in a desolate, despairing tone, and again shook her head.
'Why not? Is it so impossible to love a man whose whole heart is yours, who thinks of and cares only for you?'
'I would love you if I could! It is not my fault. I am willing, but I have not the power. I cannot.'
'Why can you not?'
She raised her large, dark eyes and looked at him, with a dull despair in them, and her lips quivered as she answered, 'Because I love another.'
That went like a second bullet through his heart, and rendered him speechless again.
'You are my husband. I know my duty. I am bound to conceal nothing from you. I am bound to tell you all that is on my heart. My love is for another. I cannot help it; you have nothing to fear. None can suffer from this as I do. I will try from day to day to deaden it. I will be true to you in thought as in deed. What I have promised, I will perform. But there it is—in my heart, burning, consuming. You could not put out that roaring fire on the hearth; it must blaze till it has eaten itself away. In time the fire here,' she touched her bosom, 'that fire, will have consumed itself and be white ashes, and the hearth cold. Then you may light another fire on it, but not till then.'
Herring had been standing looking at her, with one hand on his brow. Now he turned away.
'Are you angry?' she asked piteously. 'I felt in my conscience that I ought to conceal nothing from my husband; I knew that I was bound to tell you all. Are you angry?'