The tiny fragile form, the
slight limbs whose delicate proportions seemed to me almost those of
infancy, their irrepressible quivering plainly revealed by the absence
of robe and veil, no man worthy of the name could have beheld without
intense compassion. But such a feeling she could not realise. As her
features lost the sincerity of overwhelming fear, as the drooping lids
failed for one moment to conceal a look of almost assured exultation
in the dark eyes, my soul was suddenly and thoroughly revolted. I had
forgiven the hand aimed at a heart that never throbbed with a pulse
unkind to her. I might have forgotten the treason that requited
tenderness and trust by seeking my life; but I could never forget,
never recover, that moment's insight into thoughts that so outraged an
affection which, if my conscience belied me not, was absolutely
stainless and unselfish.
It cost a strong persistent effort of self-control to address her
again. But a confession full and complete my duty to others compelled
me to enforce. The story of the next hour I never told or can tell.
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