"Yes," said he at last, in a broken and indistinct voice, "I see you once
more, after all my promises to quit you forever,--after, my solemn
farewell, after all that I have cost you; for, Lucy, you love me, you
love me, and I shudder while I feel it; after all I myself have borne and
resisted, I once more come wilfully into your presence! How have I
burned and sickened for this moment! How have I said, 'Let me behold her
once more, only once more, and Fate may then do her worst!' Lucy! dear,
dear Lucy! forgive me for my weakness. It is now in bitter and stern
reality the very last I can be guilty of!"

As he spoke, Clifford sank beside her. He took both her hands in his,
and holding them, though without pressure, again looked passionately upon
her innocent yet eloquent face. It seemed as if he were moved beyond all
the ordinary feelings of reunion and of love. He did not attempt to kiss
the hands he held; and though the touch thrilled through every vein and
fibre of his frame, his clasp was as light as that in which the first
timidity of a boy's love ventures to stamp itself!

"You are pale, Lucy," said he, mournfully, "and your cheek is much
thinner than it was when I first saw you. When I first saw you! Ah!
would for your sake that that had never been! Your spirits were light
then, Lucy; your laugh came from the heart, your step spurned the earth.
Joy broke from your eyes, everything that breathed around you seemed full
of happiness and mirth; and now, look upon me, Lucy! lift those soft
eyes, and teach them to flash upon me indignation and contempt! Oh, not
thus, not thus! I could leave you happy,--yes, literally blessed,--if I
could fancy you less forgiving, less gentle, less angelic!"

"What have I to forgive?" said Lucy, tenderly.