She did not observe how Richard
shuddered at the sound of her voice; she only thought that he was
very ill, and, with every womanly, tender feeling aroused, she
bent over him and pressed upon his lips a kiss which burned him
like a coal of fire. She must not kiss him now, and, putting up
his hands with the feebleness of a little child, he cried
piteously,
"Don't Edith, don't! Please leave me for a time. I'd rather be
alone!"
She obeyed him then, and went slowly out, wondering what it was
which had so affected him as to make even her presence
undesirable.
Meantime, with hand pressed over his aching eyes, to shut out, if
possible, the rings of fire still dancing before them, Richard
Harrington thought of all that was past and of what was yet to
come.
"How can I lose her now," he moaned, "Why didn't she tell me at
the first? It would not then have been half so bad. Oh, Edith, my
lost Edith. You have not been all guiltless in this matter. The
bird I took to my bosom has struck me at last with its talons, and
struck so deep.
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