"Yes, dearest; of course I shall," he replied tenderly. "I have spoken unkindly—forgive me."
Bravely smothering a storm of rising sobs, she held him with both her small hands until she had sufficiently controlled herself to speak.
"I thought a few moments ago that—that you no longer cared for me," she said, with an effort, watching the effect of her words with wide-open, earnest eyes.
"No, Valérie, you were mistaken," he replied in a low, intense tone. "I love you, and nothing shall ever part us."
They had risen, and were standing together before the fireplace.
For a moment she stared vacantly before her. Then she threw herself into his arms, and, clinging to him convulsively, hid her face upon his shoulder.
"I love you, Hugh; I love you more than I have loved any man," she murmured.
He strained her to his heart—a heart remorseful, even miserable and unhappy. Not even her declaration of love brought him a ray of consolation, for the gnawing consciousness of some deep mystery connected with her past, and the danger of their love for one another, had crushed all happiness from his soul.
And although he was feigning love and endeavoring to console her, yet there was no help for it—they were inseparable, their beings were knit together, their hearts were one.
She possessed the fatal power of fascination. He was under her spell.
With an effort to shake off the gloom that was possessing him, he spoke to her words of comfort.
She tried to reply, but a great sob choked her utterance.
