Still he did not move. There was a gentleness in his voice, a
softness that disarmed her. It was not the voice of a conqueror,
rather it was that of a suppliant.
"I am not worthy to touch the hem of your garment," he went on, an
expression of pain leaping swiftly to his eyes. "I am most unworthy.
My life has not been perfect. I have done many things that I am
ashamed of, things I would give my soul to recall. But my love for
you, Alix Crown, is perfect. All the good that God ever put into
me is in this feeling I have for you. You are the very soul of me.
If you tell me to go away, I will go. That is how I love you. You
DO believe I love you with all my heart and soul, don't you, Alix?
You DO believe that I would die for you?"
Now she was looking into his eyes across the candle flames. David's
features had vanished. She saw nothing save the white, drawn face
of the man whose voice, sweet with passion, fell upon her ears
like the murmur of far-off music. She felt the warm thrill of blood
rushing back into her icy veins, surging up to her throat, to her
trembling lips, to her eyes.
"I--I don't know what to think--I don't know what to believe," she
heard herself saying.
He came a step or two nearer. Her eyes never left his. She tried
to look away.
"I want you to me mine forever, Alix. I want you to be my wife. I
want you to be with me to the end of my life.
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