"
Her eyes, her voice, her words, broke down the last barrier that held him
back; and he would have been more or less than man if he had not poured
out, in a torrent, all his love and worship in a flood of words.
"Darling--heart's dearest--do you think I'd have let you die so? I must
have felt--I must have heard you call me. It had to be. I'd feel a thought
of yours across the world," he stammered. "If I were in my grave and you
wanted me, my spirit would come back into my body to serve you. How I love
you, love you, dear! It can't be that such love can leave you cold. I'm
not of your world, but come down to mine, or help me to come into yours.
Give me a little love, just a little love, and I'll give you my soul."
"Don't--oh, don't!" faltered Angela. She raised her head from his arm and
sat up, leaning away from him.
"I know I'm a wretch!" he said. "I ought to be shot for speaking of
myself, when you're all broken to pieces. The words came. I've been
keeping them back day by day, but that's no excuse. Forgive me!"
"No--you mustn't use the word forgive--when you've just saved my life!
It's only this--I can't let you go on."
"Not now. I know. But some time----"
"No. Not ever. Don't think I couldn't care for you.
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