"I am sick of this drama; be natural for once.
We can both afford to be so now."
"Do not spurn me, Evelyn! Never was my love for you so wild as now." I
heard him kissing her hands passionately, and his voice, as he spoke
these words, was choked with grief.
"O Claude, let my hand go; at least consider appearances. Mrs. Austin
will be here in a moment now; what will she think of you? What am I to
think of such caprice?"
"One word, then, Evelyn--tell me that you forgive me--on such conditions
I will release your hands."
"When I forgive you, Claude, I shall be wholly indifferent to you," she
said, gently. "Do you still claim forgiveness? I am not angry, though,
take that assurance for all comfort. Then, if you will have it" (and I
heard a kiss exchanged), "this confirmation."
"Then you are not wholly indifferent to me, Evelyn?" he said, in eager
tones, "you care for me still--a little?"
"A very little, Claude"--hesitatingly.
"Say that you love me, Evelyn, just once more--I can then die happy."
"Claude Bainrothe, arise--unhand me--this is child's play--let me
breathe freely again. Well do you know I love you. O God! why do you
return to a theme so bitter and profitless to both? Come, let us look
together on Miriam sleeping, and gather strength and courage from such
contemplation. Come, my friend!"
The curtains were lifted--still I lay rigidly and with closed eyelids
before them--not from any notion of my own, but from the helplessness of
my agony and the condition into which I was fast drifting.
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