He could not turn
back now; he must know. He saw her grow paler as he looked at her,
standing so close that his face was bent down almost over her bent
head. He felt that her secret, nay, the crown of life itself, was
within his grasp if he did not fail now.
"Why?" he asked still again, hardly conscious that he said it, and yet
determined that he would win an answer at whatever cost.
She raised her face slowly, shyly; her eyes were shining.
"Because," she said, hardly above a whisper, "I was determined to
convince myself that I hated you. But then"--
Her words faltered, yet he still did not dare to give way to the warm
tide which he felt swelling up from his heart. His voice softened
almost to the tone of hers.
"But then?"
The crimson stained her beautiful face, and faded.
"I think I--I kissed it," she murmured, so low that the words were mere
phantoms of speech.
He tried to answer, but the words choked in his throat. He sprang
forward, and gathered her into his arms. It is an art which even
deacons may know by nature.
When the pair came in to luncheon an hour later, Mrs. Wilson looked up
at them, and then without question turned to a servant.
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