That is why I would die for you, Veronica, if God
willed that I might!"
The great words lacked no outward sign of living truth. His hand burned
hers, and closed upon it, pressure for word, to the end, in the
terrible play of acted earnestness. Even his eyes brightened and filled
themselves, determined to lie with all of him that lied to her.
Had he hated her, had it been a vengeance to make her love him in
payment of a past debt of wrong, it would have seemed less foully base
in his own eyes. But he liked her. She had always trusted him and liked
him too, and there had been only kindness between them always. That made
it worse, and he knew it. But he could do the worst now, he thought, for
he had altogether given over his soul, to leave it in hell, without
hope.
"I pray God that I may be worthy of your love," said Veronica, gently
and earnestly.
He drew her towards him by her little hand, and himself came softly
nearer to her, till his other hand was on her shoulder, drawing her
still. She yielded, not knowing what she should do. Quite close she was,
and he held her, unresisting, and kissed her. She had known, but she had
not realized. The scarlet blood leapt up in maiden shame, and she
started back a little. But she thought that he had the right to do it.
"Good night," she said, with downcast eyes, for she felt that she could
not stay to look at him.
"Good night, love," he whispered.
He let her go, and she slipped from him, leaving him still standing in
his place.
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