“I might have known it!” he said bitterly at length; and that was all.
“You could not—” she was beginning penitently, but he cut her short.
“I could!” he cried. “It has been so all my life; disappointment has been my daily bread. No doubt it was ordained and is all for the best! Anything else might turn my brain!”
“I am very sorry,” murmured poor Claire. “I am more sorry than I can ever say.”
“You may be,” was the quick retort. “You had this and that to gain.”
The girl’s blood was up at last; her lips parted and her eyes flashed; but she could not condescend to his weapons. “I am going back to the house,” was all she said, as she caught up her rustling skirts. “Excuse me, Mr. Daintree.”
“No, I shall not excuse you!” he answered, barring her way. “It is you who must excuse me first. God forgive me, I never meant to say such things! I hardly know what I am saying. I am wild and mad for love of you, Claire. And I shall win you yet—I shall win you yet—even if I have to wait a lifetime! You were made for me. I refuse to do without you. He shall not have you, whoever he is! And you must forgive me for that, too,” he added, with sudden humility, and he stood aside. “But it is none the less a fact!” he hissed as suddenly through his teeth.
They were his last words; she did not heed them, but gave him her warm soft hand in the kindest manner imaginable.
“We will forgive each other,” she said gently, “as we pray to be forgiven ourselves!”
