For the first hundred paces, until we entered the black shadows of the old beech hedge, we walked hand-in-hand, uttering no single word.
After that long interval of mourning and black despair, I was again at her side—alone. I was beside myself for very joy.
We halted. It seemed an almost involuntary action. Then taking her tenderly in my arms I pressed my lips to hers in a first long passionate caress.
“My love!” I murmured, with heart overflowing, “my dearest love—you for whom I have mourned, and whose dear memory I have ever revered—God has given you back to me. We have met again—you have been given to me from the grave, never to part—never—never!”
To my blank amazement she turned her pale white face from mine, without reciprocating my passionate kisses. She sighed, and a shiver ran through her slight frame. Her lips were cold, and with her hands she pushed me from her with averted face.
“Ella!” I gasped, holding her, and looking into her fine eyes, though I could see no expression there, so dark was it. “Ella! Darling, may I not at least kiss you welcome on your return to me? Are you not mine—my own?”
She made no response, only pushing me farther from her very firmly, although I felt that her tiny hands trembled. She was overcome with emotion, which she was in vain striving to suppress.
I held my breath—startled at her sudden and unaccountable change of manner. My heart was bursting. What did it mean?
“Speak, dearest!” I implored. “Tell me the reason of this? Are you not still my love? Are you not mine—as you were in the old days?”
Slowly she shook her head, and in a faltering voice, hoarse and low, responded:—