I had a wild thought of marrying
out of hand; and the next moment put it from me with revolt. She
was a child, she could not tell her own heart; I had surprised her
weakness, I must never go on to build on that surprisal; I must
keep her not only clear of reproach, but free as she had come to
me.
Down I sat before the fire, and reflected, and repented, and beat
my brains in vain for any means of escape. About two of the
morning, there were three red embers left and the house and all the
city was asleep, when I was aware of a small sound of weeping in
the next room. She thought that I slept, the poor soul; she
regretted her weakness--and what perhaps (God help her!) she called
her forwardness--and in the dead of the night solaced herself with
tears. Tender and bitter feelings, love and penitence and pity,
struggled in my soul; it seemed I was under bond to heal that
weeping.
"O, try to forgive me!" I cried out, "try, try to forgive me. Let
us forget it all, let us try if we'll no can forget it!"
There came no answer, but the sobbing ceased. I stood a long while
with my hands still clasped as I had spoken; then the cold of the
night laid hold upon me with a shudder, and I think my reason
reawakened.
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