"Ah!" He drawled the expletive as though it were some Oriental
word.
The girl continued. "You have perhaps heard that a marriage is
arranged between us."
Her voice was steady, low, without emotion.
For a long time there was utter silence in the room.
Then, finally, when the Oriental spoke his voice had changed. It
was gentle, and packed with sympathy. It was like a voice within
the gate of a confessional.
"Do you love him?" it said.
"I do not know."
The vast sympathy in the voice continued. "You do not know? - it
is impossible! Love is or it is not. It is the longing of
elements torn asunder, at the beginning of things, to be
rejoined."
The girl turned swiftly, her body erect, her face lifted.
"But this great act," she cried. "My father, I, all of our
blood, are moved by romance - by the romance of sacrifice. Look
how my father died seeking an antidote for the pain of the world.
How shall I meet this sacrifice of Lord Eckhart?"
Something strange began to dawn in the wide Mongolian face.
"What sacrifice?"
The girl came over swiftly to the table. She scattered the mass
of jewels with a swift gesture.
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