The first time that he joined her, after five months of longing, he
remained a week without crying out the words that were heavy on his
heart. One day she said to him:
"What is there--back of your eyes, hidden away, that you are stifling?"
"You know," he blurted out.
"What?"
"Ah, I have tried not to say it, to live it down. I can't--it's beyond
me. I shall have no peace until it is said."
"Then say it."
He took her face in his two hands and looked into her eyes.
"Since I have been away," he said brutally, "there has been no one else
in your heart? You have been true to me, to our love?"
"I have been true," she answered with a little smile.
He held his eyes on hers a long while, hesitating whether to be silent
or to continue, and then, all at once, convinced, burst into tears and
begged her pardon.
"Oh, I shouldn't have asked it--forgive me."
"Do whatever is easiest for you, my love," she answered. "There is
nothing to forgive. I understand all. I love you for it."
Only she never asked him any questions, and that alarmed him.
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