Think,--yes, DARE to
think of all the prosaic realities of life, shared with him!"
Miss Bartram felt herself growing dizzy. Behind the impulse which
bade her cast herself upon his breast swept such a hot wave of
shame and pain that her face burned, and she dropped her eyelids to
shut out the sight of his face. But, for one endless second, the
sweeter voice spoke through their clasped hands. Perhaps he kissed
hers; she did not know; she only heard herself murmur:
"Good-bye! Pray go on; I will rest here."
She sat down upon a bank by the roadside, turned away her head, and
closed her eyes. It was long before the tumult in her nature
subsided. If she reflected, with a sense of relief, "nothing was
said," the thought immediately followed, "but all is known." It
was impossible,--yes, clearly impossible; and then came such a wild
longing, such an assertion of the right and truth and justice of
love, as made her seem a miserable coward, the veriest slave of
conventionalities.
Out of this struggle dawned self-knowledge, and the strength which
is born of it.
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