You wonder? Beloved--if
you knew yourself, you would not wonder that I love you so! There is no
man who could save himself, if he lived by your side, as I have lived.
You smile at that? Well--you are too young to know yourself, but I am
not--I know--I know--I thought I knew too well, and must pay dear for
knowing how one might love you and live. But it is not too well, now.
It is life, not death. It is hope, not despair--it is all that life and
joy can mean, in the highest."
He paused, his eyes in hers, his hand still stretched out and lying on
the shelf. Gently hers sought it and lay in it, and there was light in
her face, for she believed. And he, in his suffering within, was moved;
as a man is, who, being in his life but a poor knave, plays bright truth
and splendid passion on a stage, and the contrast that is between being
and seeming, in his heart, makes him play greatness with a strong will,
born of certain despair.
"I am glad," said Veronica, softly, and she looked down, while her hand
still lingered in his, and he went on.
"It is not easy for a man like me to believe that he has all the world
in his grasp--in the hold of his heart, to be his as long as he lives.
But you are making me believe it now--all that I did not dare to think
of as even most dimly possible in my lonely life--that is why I thank
you, that is why I bless you, and adore you, and love you as I do, as I
can never make you guess, Veronica, as I scarcely hope you dream that a
man may love a woman.
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