"Why may I not know the truth?" I asked the blanched and agitated woman
before me. Her involuntary declaration that I had only returned to life
by little short of a miracle was in itself clear proof that she was
aware of the attempt made to assassinate me. I therefore determined to
question her further and ascertain whether Boyd's grave suspicion had
any absolute foundation. "You know, Eva," I went on, standing before
her with my hand upon her shoulder in deep earnestness, "you know how
strong is my affection; you know that you are all the world to me."
Often during my many visits to that riverside house, so cool and
peaceful after the busy turmoil in which fate compelled me to earn my
bread, I had spoken of my love for her, and now in my desperation I told
her that I could not leave the woman whom I had so long worshipped in
the ideal, whom I had instantly recognised as being the embodiment of
that ideal, of whose presence I could not endure to be deprived even in
thought.
She stood silent, with her back to the table, looking into my eyes while
I told her these things. A ray of sunlight tipped her auburn hair with
gold. Sometimes she would seem to yield to a kind of bliss as she
listened to my avowal; to forget all else than ourselves and my words.
At others a look of anguish would suddenly cloud her features, and once
she shuddered, pressing her hands to her eyes, saying--
"Frank, you must not! Spare me this. I cannot bear it! Indeed I
can't."
Sometimes, in the days that had passed, when I had spoken of my love,
joy and pain would succeed each other on her face; indeed, often they
would be present at the same moment. From the look of complete
abandonment to happiness that sometimes, though never for long, shone on
her features when we had idled up that shady, picturesque backwater,
where the kingfishers nested, I felt that she loved me, and that
eventually that love would gain the victory. Thus, continually, I tried
to elicit an expression of her feelings in words. Sweet to me as was
the confession of her looks, I sought also a confession of speech.
Alas! however, she seemed determined to give me no single word of
encouragement.
"But why," I asked, as she stood there with bent head, her hand toying
nervously with her rings, "why is it that when I speak of what most
occupies my heart you become silent or sorrowful?"
She smiled, a strange, artificial smile, and for an instant her clear
blue eyes--those eyes which spoke of an absolute purity of soul--met
mine, as she replied--
"Can a woman explain her caprice any more than a man can understand it?"