His heart caught with pity. He took her hands, drew her to him, and
comforted her.
"Will you have me, to marry me?" he said very low.
Oh, why did not he take her? Her very soul belonged to him. Why would he
not take what was his? She had borne so long the cruelty of belonging to
him and not being claimed by him. Now he was straining her again. It
was too much for her. She drew back her head, held his face between her
hands, and looked him in the eyes. No, he was hard. He wanted something
else. She pleaded to him with all her love not to make it her choice.
She could not cope with it, with him, she knew not with what. But it
strained her till she felt she would break.
"Do you want it?" she asked, very gravely.
"Not much," he replied, with pain.
She turned her face aside; then, raising herself with dignity, she took
his head to her bosom, and rocked him softly. She was not to have him,
then! So she could comfort him. She put her fingers through his hair.
For her, the anguished sweetness of self-sacrifice.
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