I must go. I leave you to the quiet of the woods."
"I am sorry," she said, "I am sorry that you are able to imply that you
have never known happiness. Surely you cannot mean that." It was all she
could say. His look of profound melancholy hurt her, for like all who
knew Mark Rivers well, she loved, respected and admired him.
He made no explanatory reply, but after a brief silence said, "I must go,
Leila, where there are both duties and dangers--not--no, not in cities."
"I trust you do not mean to leave us--surely not!"
"No, not yet--not while I can be of use to these dear friends."
As she moved on at his side or before him, he saw too well the easy grace
of her strong young virgin form, the great blue eyes, the expressive
tenderness of features which told of dumb sympathy with what she had no
knowledge to understand. He longed to say, "I love you and am condemned
by my conscience to ask no return." It would only add to his unhappiness
and disturb a relation which even in its incompleteness was dear to him.
The human yearning to confess, to win even the sad luxury of pity beset
the man. In his constant habit of introspection, he had become
unobservant and had no least idea that the two young people he loved so
well were nearing what was to him forever impossible.
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