Pain seemed to ache through her heart as if some hard hand closed on and bruised it. If he had loved her indeed, the rocky prison would have smiled to him with heaven's sunshine; the world of men would have been as nought; the years would have been blent in one long dream without awaking once. Herself she would have asked no better thing than this; to live thus always, hidden from human sight, undivided by any envious claim, alone in the soft twilight of this undisputed home, together, until age or death should find them both and they would rest for ever here, with the myrtle blossoms dropping on the rock above, and the wild-birds calling under the wild olive. She thought that even dead she would hear the murmur of the cushat and the woodlark's hymn.
He saw the softness come into her gaze, the sigh come upon her lips.
'Ah, why will you not give me love at least!' he cried. 'We should snatch some joy at least from fate!———'
He had that skill which always made her feel that she herself had erred.
Was she wrong to shrink away when he spoke thus? Was he not so unhappy that
