My only answer was a long-drawn, quivering sob.
"Oh, hush, my darling, hush!" he whispered, turning his head away from me. "You break my heart."
As I look back now, I could kill myself for being such a coward. Why did I not confess the truth? What foolish pride was it which sealed my lips?
The silence which fell upon us seemed to last for hours; but in reality it could only have been a few minutes before George turned to me and said quietly,—
"You had better go now. They will miss you."
"But this is good-by," I cried brokenly, the tears falling like rain from my eyes as I lifted them imploringly to him. "Must I go away from you like this?"
He looked at me strangely for an instant; then, with an infinite tenderness, he put his arms round me and drew me to his heart. Very quietly he lifted my face to his, and kissed me twice on the lips. It would have been easy for me to tell him the truth then. My eyes sought his, to find there some encouragement for the confession which I was about to make, but all his calmness suddenly vanished; he turned away from me, crying,—
"Leave me, child! I can bear no more!"
I waited in silence for him to speak to me again. In vain: he stood by the chimney in the same position in which I had found him, and no marble statue could have been more quiet.
While I still hesitated, my cheeks burning and my heart beating tumultuously, a voice called, "Dorris!"
Other voices followed. I lingered for an instant, but
