"Dearest," said she, "why are you afraid to tell me. You hold my hands: do they tremble?"
"But, Natalie, think!" he said. "Think of the locket; it was given you by one who loved you—who has loved you all these years—and been kept away from you—and now she is waiting for you."
He studied her face intently: there was nothing there but a vague bewilderment. He grew more and more to fear the effect of the shock.
"Yes, yes. Can you not think, now, if it were possible that one whom you have always thought to be dead—whom you have loved all through your life—if it were she herself—"
She withdrew her hands from his, and caught the back of a chair. She was ghastly pale; for a second she did not speak.
"You will kill me—if it is not true," she said, in a low voice, and still staring at him with frightened, bewildered eyes.
"Natalie, it is true," said he, stepping forward to catch her by the arm, for he thought she was going to fall.
She sunk into a chair, and covered her face with her hands—not to cry, but to think. She had to reverse the belief of a lifetime in a second.
But suddenly she started up, her face still white, her lips firm.
"Take me to her; I must see her; I will go at once."