tell you I love you. I love you, Cassandra; do you understand?"
She stood quite still and gazed at him in amazement, almost as if in terror. Her face grew white, and she pressed her two hands on her heart, then slowly slid them up to her round white throat as if it hurt her—a movement he had seen in her twice before, when suffering emotion.
"Why, Cassandra, does it hurt you for me to tell you that I love you? Beautiful girl, does it?"
"Yes, suh," she said huskily.
He would have taken her in his arms, but refrained for very love of her. She should be sacred even from his touch, if she so wished, and the barrier, whatever it might be, should halo her. He had spoken so tenderly he had no need to tell her. The love was in his eyes and his voice, but he went on.
"Then I must be cruel and hurt you. I love you all the days and the nights—all the moments of the days—I love you."
In very terror, she flung out her hands and placed them on his breast, holding him thus at arm's-length, and with head thrown back, still looked into his eyes piteously, imploringly. With trembling lips, she seemed to be speaking, but no voice came. He covered her hands with his, and held them where she had placed them.
"You have put a wall between us. Why have you done it?"