"
This was terrible to Isabel. It seemed as if her own haunting thought
that she was sacrificing a dream to reality had become incarnate in her
lover and was speaking through his lips. And yet in its very incarnation,
it seemed to reveal its weakness rather than its strength. As a dark
suggestion the thought was mighty; embodied in actual language it seemed
to shrink a little. But then, on the other hand--and so the interior
conflict began to rage again.
She made a movement as if to stand up; but he pressed her back into the
chair.
"No, my dearest, you shall be a prisoner until you give your parole."
Twice Isabel made an effort to speak; but no sound came. It seemed as if
the raging strife of thoughts deafened and paralysed her.
"Now, Isabel," said Hubert.
"I cannot, I cannot," she cried desperately, "you must give me time. It
is too sudden, your returning like this. You must give me time. I do not
know what I believe. Oh, dear God, help me."
"Isabel, promise! promise! Before Christmas! I thought it was all to be
so happy, when I came in through the garden just now. My mother will
hardly speak to me; and I came to you, Isabel, as I always did; I felt so
sure you would be good to me; and tell me that you would always love me,
now that I had given up my religion for love of you. And now----" and
Hubert's voice ended in a sob.
Her heart seemed rent across, and she drew a sobbing sigh. Hubert heard
it, and caught at her hands again as he knelt.
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