Every muscle was
quivering.
"What of her?" she inquired, in tones quite as low as those in which
the young man had spoken.
"You know the history."
"Well?"
"And, regardless of my suffering and repentance, made known to Clara
the blasting secret."
"No! By my hopes of heaven, no!" quickly exclaimed Mrs. Hartley.
"No?" A quiver ran through the young man's frame.
"No, Mr. Florence! That rested as silently in my own bosom as in
yours."
"Who, then, informed her?"
"No one."
"Has she not heard of it?"
"No."
"Why, then, did she change towards me?"
"You changed, first, towards her."
"Me!"
"Yes. From the day of her arrival in New York, she perceived in you
a certain coldness and reserve, that increased with each repeated
interview."
"Oh, no!"
"It is true. I saw it myself."
Florence clasped his hands together, and bent his eyes in doubt and
wonder upon the floor.
"Did she complain of coldness and change in me?" he inquired.
"Yes, often. And returned, last night, to leave you free, doubting
not that you had ceased to love her."
"Ceased to love her! While this sad work has been going on, I have
loved her with the agony of one who is about losing earth's most
precious thing.
Pages:
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56