I may not know your name, the story of
your life, who or what you are, but I love you, Beth Norvell, with the
life-love of a man. What is it, then, between us? What is it? God
help me! I could battle against realities, but not against ghosts. Do
you suppose I cannot forgive, cannot excuse, cannot blot out a past
mistake? Do you imagine my love so poor a thing as that? Do not wrong
me so. I am a man of the world, and comprehend fully those temptations
which come to all of us. I can let the dead past bury its dead,
satisfied with the present and the future. Only tell me the truth, the
naked truth, and let me combat in the open against whatever it is that
stands between us. Beth, Beth, this is life or death to me!"
She stood staring at him, her face gone haggard, her eyes full of
misery. Suddenly she sank upon her knees beside a chair, and, with a
moan, buried her countenance within her hands.
"Beth," he asked, daring to touch her trembling hair, "have I hurt you?
Have I done wrong to speak thus?"
A single sob shook the slender, bowed figure, the face still hidden.
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