I opened the door, to show that I was coming; then, taking her hand, I said,—
"Good bye, Rachel! And so—you can't love me!"
An expression of pain crossed her face. She leaned against the wall, but did not speak.
"Hurry up there!" shouted the driver.
"Yes, yes!" I cried, impatiently.
"If you can't speak," I went on to Rachel, "press my hand, if you can love me,—now, for I am going. Good bye!"
She did not press my hand, and I could not go.
"You can't say you love me," I cried; "then say you don't. Anything rather than this doubt."
"Oh, Mr. Browne!" she replied, at last, "I can't say anything—but—good bye!"