There is something
wrong, I see. Be frank, dear, and tell me what it is. You need not be
afraid of me--you know I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head. Oh,
sweetheart, what has come between us? Tell me, I beg!"
"Why, nothing, of course--nothing but the gulf that time has widened.
That's all--sure 'tis enough."
"But 'tis more than that. Were that all, and I came back to you thus,
a minute's presence would bridge that gulf. All the old feelings would
rush back. Why, if I were but a mere acquaintance whom you had once
known in a friendly way, you wouldn't have greeted me so coldly. There
would have been cordiality, smiles, a warm clasp of the hand,
questions about my health and doings, at least a curiosity as to how I
had passed the years. But you meet me, not merely with lack of warmth,
but with positive coldness. Nay, you were shocked, startled,
frightened! You turned white, and stood still as if you saw a spirit,
or as if you were caught in some crime! Yes, 'twas for all the world
like that! And what was't you said? It passed me then, I was so amazed
at my reception--so different from the one I had pictured all the way
thither, all the weeks and months. What was't you said?"
"Some word of surprise, I suppose; something of no meaning."
"Nay, it had meaning, too. I felt that, though I put it aside for the
time. Something about the night--ah, yes: 'to-night of all nights.'
And me of all men.
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