"Ah, well!" he cried, with a forced laugh, "in a month I shall wonder at myself for this infatuation; and you, you will have dropped me completely out of your life!"
"Don't laugh in that way!" I cried impetuously, putting out my hand. "Don't!"
He looked at me searchingly.
"Poor little Dorris!" said he tenderly. "You are sorry for me. You show it in your sad eyes and your quivering mouth. You are very good and patient with me. I have brought only sadness into your life," he added dismally, still looking at me as if he meant to impress every feature on his mind.
Sorry for him! He little knew what it was that was filling my small soul with agony. This demon which was pulling at my heart-strings was love,—love for him. Like a flash of lightning the knowledge burst upon me. I had been blind before, but it was written before me in letters of fire at that instant, and I could not choose but read it. Sorry for him! Yes,—overwhelmed with anguish for him and for myself. Oh, for courage to tell him that I loved him, that my promise counted for nothing in my own heart, and that I should die if he sent me away!
But I could not say it. He had not dreamed of such a thing, and I could not confess it.
Presently he put his hand gently up, and touched my cheek.
"I have made you cry again," he said, in the same low, sad voice. "I wish you would not cry."
