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Warfield, Catherine A.

"Miriam Monfort A Novel"

The blush of shame
mounted above his fingers and crimsoned the very roots of his silken
hair. He trembled visibly.
O God! how I pitied him then! Self sank out of sight at that moment, and
I thought only of his confusion. Had I obeyed my impulse, I would have
cast my arms about his neck as about a brother's, and whispered, to that
stormy nature, "Peace, be still!" But I refrained from a manifestation
that might have deceived him utterly as to its source. I only said:
"I am very sorry, Claude, for all this; but bear it like a man. Believe
me, no one shall ever know the occasion of this rupture--the management
of which I leave entirely in your hands. Of what I overheard I shall
never speak, I promise you, even though sorely pressed for my reasons
for our separation. My own pride would prevent such a revelation, you
know, putting principle aside." And again I extended my hand to him
frankly, with the words, "Let us be friends."
He had glanced up a moment while I was speaking, evidently relieved by
my voluntary promise. He took my hand humbly now, and reverently kissed
it, bowing his head above it long and mutely.
"My poor, outraged, offended, noble Miriam!" I heard him murmur at last.
The words affected me.
"I am all these, Claude," I said, withdrawing my hand gently but firmly,
"but none the less your friend, if you will have it so.


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