“Then what is this obstacle to our happiness?”
“No! no!” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “Request no explanation, for, I—I cannot give it. It would be fatal.”
“But why?” I asked, for it was a cruel and bitter disappointment. All my hopes had been shattered in those brief moments.
“From the day we first met I have known we loved one another,” she said slowly, “yet it would have been better had we never become acquainted, since it causes pain to both.”
“But, surely, if you love me, Vera, this obstacle can be removed! Tell me what it is; if a secret, it will be safe with me,” I said earnestly.
She dashed the tears from her eyes, and with an effort stood erect before me, saying:
“No! it is impossible. Think no more of marriage, Frank; regard me only as a dear friend who loves you.”
“Then you will not tell me why we cannot marry?” I said, gravely, rising and taking her hand.
“It—it is a secret. I would rather die than divulge it; though, some day, perhaps, the circumstances will alter, and I shall be at liberty to tell you everything. For the present we love one another, but it must end there; marriage is entirely out of the question.”
I saw it was useless to press for any further explanation. Evidently she was prepared for any self-sacrifice, to protect her secret, because, when finding herself wavering, she had summoned all her strength, and with a mighty effort overcame her emotion, resolutely giving her answer.