Could
he have looked into her eyes just then he would never have ceased to
regret those words.
There was contrition in his face as he turned back. He reached out for
her hands--those faithful, loving hands he had thrust away. For just a
minute she did not give them, but that was only for the minute--so quick
was she to forgive, so eager to understand.
"Forget that, sweetheart--quick. I didn't know what I was saying. Why,
liebchen--it's only you makes it bearable at all. If I did not have you I
should--choose the other way."
"Karl!"--in an instant clinging to him wildly--"you hadn't thought--you
couldn't think--"
"Oh, sweetheart--you've misunderstood. Now, dearie--don't--don't make me
feel I've made you cry. All I meant, Ernestine, was that without you it
would be so utterly unbearable."
He stroked her hair until she was quiet. "Why, liebchen--do you think
anything under heaven could be so bad that I should want to leave you?"
"I should hope I had not failed--quite that completely," she whispered
brokenly.
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