told her, in short, sharp words, that what she was saying branded her as
unmaidenly and indiscreet; but I was powerless either to move or to
speak.

"I loved you," she said, "the first moment I saw you. You are not like
other men, Sir Edgar. You are so generous, so simply truthful, so noble.
No wonder that I love you; no wonder that I look proud of my love. Ah,
me! ah, me! would that I knew how to tell you! Give me your love; you
shall never repent it. I will make home heaven for you. Men say that I
have beauty and talent. Ah, me! I would use every gift I have for you;
help you to win high honors that cold, unambitious natures never dream
of. Ah, love me; love me, cousin! You will find no one else so true!"

Her face paled with passion; her glorious eyes, dim with tears, were
raised to mine.

"Forgive me that I have spoken first. I should have died with my love. I
know that other women in my place would have done so. I could not; life
is strong within me. I could not die here, tortured to death by inches,
without telling you. Ah, say to me that I shall not die!"

Weak words of mine cannot tell the passionate music of her voice, the
passionate beauty of her face.

"You do not speak to me; you cannot forgive me that I have not borne my
love and sorrow in silence until it killed me. Ah, see what love must
mine be to make me to speak to you, to make me kneel to you, asking for
my life, my life!" and as she uttered the words her head dropped on my
arm, and her wealth of golden-brown hair fell over me.