The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1902-03-13
vent their hearts showing in their

vent their hearts showing in their
faces.
What do you want to say?" she
asked, her breath catching.
Il want to know, Marie If you still
love me?' his voice whispered through
the music.
What does it matter?" she said.
And is it right to ask"
i've come all the way from Quebec
to ask it, he said. -
You came to ask that? What did
you come to say?" she flashed out, her
lips quivering a little
He understood ''Forgive me. l
thought you knew I couldn't ask you
If you cared unless p
He paused, for if he spoke the words
the die would be cast forever; he would
never return to those quiet walls
Where incense and not the breath of
Woman-a breath like this, soft, sweet,
instinct with youth and delight-would
touch his senses. Yet what had he
come for? TO rack a girls heart and
soul and then return to his masses
and prayers, leaving an injured life be-
hind him? When he started from Que
bee he scarcely knew what he was 60
ing to do, save that he must see this
girls face once-once again. He had
had no thought beyond that. That de-
sire was hot within him. He did not
know-she might be married or dead
or the betrothed of another, but he
would see her, then return to his sa-
cred duties and forget. In coming at
all he had committed a sin for which
he would have to atone bitterly when
he returned, if he returned, but the lat
ter thought had not presented itself to
him definitely, though it had flashed in
and out Of the vapors of emotion like
flying flame.
But now here was Marie, and here
was he in the garb Of the workaday
world, and frivolity and irresponsible
gayety around them, and he, all on a
sudden, with his faraway boyish reck-
lessness again alive in him, the master
of the revels.
"Unless?" Marie asked. Eyes, 'un-
less?" There were two little lines at
the corners Of her mouth-lines which
never come to a girls face unless she
has suffered and lost. Marie had not
only heart, but sense of honor, too,
for the man. Having come to her thus,
whatever CHANGED he should justify
himself in so far as might be by say
ing what any honest man would say.
She had right to know if he still
loved her, and he had no right to know
If she still loved him until that was
done. He must be justified in her sight.
II he loved her and said so, then let
the Angel point what way it would;
she would submit.
She flushed with a kind of indigna-
ton. Must she always be the sufferer?
He, man, had a work Of life to inter-
est him; she had nothing-nothing save
herself and the solitary path of mea-
ger parish life. She would have her
moment of triumph in spite of all. She
would hear him say he loved her; she
would make him give all up for her.
She was no longer the wistful, shrink
ing girl who had been hurried back to
her home from Quebec and handed
over to the tender watchfulness of M.
Fabre, whose heart had ached for her,
yet who felt that what was was best.
She was very much a woman now,
and if only for an hour she would have
her way.
"Unless what-Camille?' she asked.
Her voice dwelt softly on the "Ca-
MILE" It was the first sound Of ten
derness that he had heard from her
since he came, and it thrilled him. It
was three years since he had heard a
voice with that sound in it. Life was
grave and far from sentimental in the
seminary. His youth-the old ADAM
came to swelling life in him. He put
it all in the words, II wouldn't have
asked you if you loved me yet, Marie,
unless l was sure you knew that I
loved you''-he drew his bow caress-
ingly along the D string, so that a
sweet, aching joyfulness seemed in
fused into the dance-"and that I've
risked everything to come and tell you
so,'
A low sound, half delight, half pain,
came from her. But she turned her
head away. There was silence for a
moment
wont you speak? What are you
thinking? Don't turn your head away"
he continued
Slowly her face came toward him,
her eyes shining, her cheeks pale, her
lips slow and moving gently, but the
words dropping like metal.
"You are true to nothing" she said;
"neither to the church-nor to me-"
"Marie, haven't you any pity?" He
did not know what or how he was
playing now. His fingers wandered,
the bow came and went, but he was
not thinking Of the music
"Why are you so selfish, then?" she
said. ''Why didn't you leave me here
alone? A woman is always at a mans
mercy!'
Something scorched him from head
to foot. He now felt, as he had never
felt before, what that incident three