why, I wouldn't _let_ you go!"

Annesley clasped her hands under her cloak. They were cold yet tingling.
Her blood was leaping; but she could not speak. She was afraid of saying
too much.

"Can't you give me a grain of hope?" he went on. His voice was wistful.
"We have so little time."

"What--do you want me to say?" Annesley stammered.

"I want you to say--that you don't wish to see the last of me to-night."

"I shouldn't be human if I _could_ wish that!" the words seemed to speak
themselves; and she, who had been taught to repress and hide emotion as
if it were a vice, was glad that the truth was out. After all they had
gone through together she couldn't send this man away believing her
indifferent. "I--it doesn't seem as if we were strangers," she faltered
on.

"Strangers! I should think not," he echoed. "We mayn't know much about
each other's tastes, but we do know about each other's souls, which is
more than can be said of most men and women acquainted for half a
lifetime. As for our pasts, you haven't had one, and I--well, if I swear
to you that I've never murdered anybody, or been in prison, or committed
an unforgivable crime, will you take my word?"

"If you told me you _were_ a murderer, or had committed some unforgivable
crime, I--I don't feel as if I could believe it," Annesley assured him.
"It--would hurt me to think evil of you. I'm sure it isn't you who are