Again we were silent for a minute. I was gathering courage for another question.
"Norah!"—I stopped; she looked at me.
"Norah! if your father had other objects in life, which would leave you free, what would be your answer to me?"
"Oh, do not ask me! Do not ask me!" Her tone was imploring; but there are times when manhood must assert itself, even though the heart be torn with pity for woman's weakness. I went on:—
"I must, Norah! I must! I am in torture till you tell me. Be pitiful to me! Be merciful to me! Tell me, do you love me? You know I love you, Norah. Oh God! how I love you! The world has but one being in it for me; and you are that one! With every fibre of my being—with all my heart and soul, I love you! Won't you tell me, then, if you love me?"
A flush as rosy as dawn came over her face, and timidly she asked me, "Must I answer? Must I?"
"You must, Norah!"
"Then, I do love you! God help us both! but I love you! I love you!" and tearing away her hand from mine, she put both hands before her face and burst into a passionate flood of tears.
There could be but one ending to such a scene. In an instant she was in my arms. Her will and mine went down before the sudden flood of passion that burst upon us both. She hid her face upon my breast, but I raised it tenderly, and our lips met in one long, loving, passionate kiss.
