His voice swelled as he spoke, and his pale face softened, and the light of hopeless love was in his great eyes.
"Say that you would—for me—me!" He held out his arms toward her as if soul and body together yearned for one word, one look of love.
Greta stood there, silent and immovable. "What is it?" she repeated.
"Let me think that you would do something for my sake—mine," he pleaded. "Let me carry away that solace. Think what I have suffered for you, and all in vain. Think that perhaps it was no fault of mine that you could not love me; that another woman might have found me worthy to be loved who had not been unworthy of love from me."
"What is it?" repeated Greta, coldly, but her drooping lashes were wet with tears.
"Think that I am of a vain, proud, stubborn spirit; that in all this world there is neither man nor woman, friend nor enemy, to whom I have sued for grace or favor; that since I was a child I have never even knelt in prayer in God's house that man might see or God might hear. Then think that I am at your feet, a miserable man."
"What is it?" said Greta, again.
Hugh Ritson paused, and then added, more calmly: "That you should take the vows and the veil, and stay here until death."
Greta lifted her eyes. Hugh's eyes were bent upon her.
"No, I can not. I should be false to my marriage vows," she said, quietly.