“I’ve been a fool. Forgive me for speaking as I did,” he entreated.
“Yes,” she replied, with a sigh; “if we love one another, why should there be any mistrust between us?”
Why? Had he not cause for apprehension? he asked himself.
But her arms were about his neck, her head pillowed upon his shoulder. The sweet perfume of violets intoxicated him. In a moment he became convinced that she was terribly in earnest, and was confident of her intense affection.
“I have no mistrust whatever, darling,” he said reassuringly, stroking her hair with infinite tenderness.
“I—I am satisfied,” she murmured. “But tell me, Hugh, once more, that I shall be your wife.”
“Yes, indeed you shall, dearest; I care for no one else but you,” said he, with a grave look.
Her labouring heart throbbed against his as their lips met in a long last caress. His anguished soul invoked the blessing on her that his quivering lips refused to utter, and he tore himself away.
He took one look back, and saw her totter a few steps after him with arms outstretched, then stop.
Gazing upon her with a loving glance, he waved his hand, and passed out.