He wanted her eyes
not to have that terrible, wistful, unfathomable look.
When she turned her face to him again, a faint delicate flush was
glowing, and there was again dawning that terrible shining of joy in her
eyes, which really terrified him, and yet which he now wanted to see,
because he feared the look of doubt still more.
'You love me?' she said, rather faltering.
'Yes.' The word cost him a painful effort. Not because it wasn't true.
But because it was too newly true, the _saying_ seemed to tear open again
his newly-torn heart. And he hardly wanted it to be true, even now.
She lifted her face to him, and he bent forward and kissed her on the
mouth, gently, with the one kiss that is an eternal pledge. And as he
kissed her his heart strained again in his breast. He never intended to
love her. But now it was over. He had crossed over the gulf to her, and
all that he had left behind had shrivelled and become void.
After the kiss, her eyes again slowly filled with tears. She sat still,
away from him, with her face drooped aside, and her hands folded in her
lap. The tears fell very slowly. There was complete silence. He too sat
there motionless and silent on the hearthrug. The strange pain of his
heart that was broken seemed to consume him. That he should love her?
That this was love! That he should be ripped open in this way!--Him, a
doctor!--How they would all jeer if they knew!--It was agony to him to
think they might know.
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