Against the influence of Philip's
presence, and the effect of his having so imperilled himself to see
her, she had to arm herself with coldness, or look upon the success of
her project as going for naught to her advantage. She dared not
contemplate the forfeit; so she hardened her heart.
"Why," she said, with a forced absence of feeling, "so many years have
passed--so many things have happened--you appear so much a stranger--"
"Stranger!" echoed he. "Why, not if you had thought of me half as
constantly as I have of you! You have been in my mind, in my heart,
every hour, every minute since that day--Can it be? Is it my Margaret
that stands there and speaks so? So unmoved to see me! So cold! Oh,
who would have expected this?"
He sat down and gazed wretchedly about the room, taking no cognisance
of what objects his sight fell upon. Margaret seated herself, with a
sigh of annoyance, and regarded him with a countenance of displeasure.
"Margaret, do you mean what you say?" he asked, after a short silence.
"I'm sure you shouldn't blame me," said she. "You enabled me to learn
how to endure your absence. You stayed away all these years. Naturally
I've come to consider you as--"
"Nay, don't attempt to put me in the wrong. My heart is as warm to you
as ever, in spite of the years of absence. Those years have made no
change in me. Why should they have changed you, then? No--'tis not
their fault if you are changed, nor mine neither.
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