“Finish your story, and we shall no longer be alienated.”
“My confession is unpleasant, nay, horrible, but I must continue it,” she sighed. “After your escape from Russia my uncle, from some inexplicable cause, turned against me, and I had but one friend, Demetrius. As the playmate of my youth who had been absent many years, he renewed his acquaintanceship with a kindness and tenderness that caused me to suspect his intentions. My surmise proved correct. He asked me to marry him; and I, having in a manner pledged myself to you, refused.”
“And what did he do?”
“It made but little difference. We were none the less friends; for even though the father is a vile schemer, the son is not.”
“You refused him because you loved me so well?”
“Yes, dear, I did,” she replied.
Then she bent, and our lips met.