“I do not wish that we should part, Gerald. I have no one but you.”
“And God knows—God knows, darling, I have no one but you!” I cried brokenly; and as I uttered these words she cast her arms about my neck, clinging to me, sobbing, with her face lying close against my breast.
“My darling—my own darling!” was all I could murmur as I kissed away the tears that rained down her checks. I could say nothing more definite than that.
“You will not be false, will you?” she implored at last. “You will not break your promise, will you?”
“I will never do that, dearest,” I assured her. “I love you, upon my word of honour as a man. I have loved you ever since that day when we first met at the house-party up in Scotland—the night of my arrival when you sat opposite me at dinner. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” she answered, smiling, “I remember. My love for you, Gerald, has never wavered for one single instant.”
“Then why should you be unhappy?” I asked.
“I really cannot tell,” she answered. She turned her face, and I saw that there was a shadow across it, as though the sunshine of her life had gone behind a bank of cloud. “All I can compare this strange foreboding to is the shadow of an unknown danger which seems of late to have arisen, and to stand in a wall of impenetrable blackness between us.”
“No, no!” I hastened to urge, “the sweet idyll of our blameless love must be preserved. That fancy of yours is only a vague, unfounded one.”
She shook her head dubiously.