"
"Did-did--she tell you?"
"She did not," he returned, concisely.
"Then how--how--?"
"I just came. What made you think you could get away from me?"
"I wasn't--getting away," she returned with difficulty. "I was just
tired--and I came here to--to rest--and to work," she concluded, lamely.
"You didn't need me."
"Not need you," he cried, stretching his trembling hands toward her.
"Oh, Rose, I need you always!"
Slowly the colour ebbed from her face, leaving her white to the lips.
"Don't," she said, pitifully.
"Oh, I know," he flashed back, bitterly. "I've lost any shadow of right
I might ever have had, because I was a blind fool, and I never had any
chance anyway. All I can do is to go on loving you, needing you, wanting
you; seeing your face before me every hour of the day and night,
thirsting for you with every fibre of me. All I have to keep is an empty
husk of memory--those few weeks you were kind to me. At least I had you
with me, though your heart belonged to someone else."
"Someone else?" she repeated, curiously. The colour was coming back
slowly now.
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