his head drooped till his forehead rested on her knees.
For the moment she did not repulse him; she did not stir nor speak; she yielded herself to the embrace, mute and very pale, and moved to a strange tumult of emotion, whether of anger or of gladness she barely knew.
He lifted his head, and his eyes looked into hers till her own could look no longer.
"You love me?" he whispered to her, whilst his arms still held her imprisoned.
She was silent; under the purple knot of velvet at her breast, he saw her heart heave, her breath come and go; a hot colour flushed over all her face, then faded, and left her again pale as her white brocade.
"It were of no use if—if I did," she muttered. "You forget yourself;—leave me."
But he knelt there, looking at her till the look seemed to burn her like flame; yet she did not rise:—she, the very hem of whose garment no man before him had ever dared to touch.
"You love me!" he murmured, and said the same thing again and again and again, in all
