There had always
been something comfortable and warm in his nearness to her, and under
the influence of it, she felt tempted to cry out, "I want to go back to
find out if Abel still loves me! I am an idiot, I know, but I feel that
I shall die if I discover that he has got over caring. This suspense
is more than I can bear, yet I never knew until I felt it, how much he
means to me."
This was what she wanted to say, but instead of uttering it, she merely
murmured:
"I can't, Jonathan, you would never understand." Her whole being was
vibrant to-night with the desire for love, yet, in spite of his wide
experience with the passion, she knew that he would not comprehend what
she meant by the word. It wasn't his kind of love in the least that she
wanted; it differed from his as the light of the sun differs from the
blaze of a prairie fire. "It's just a feeling," she added, helplessly.
"You don't have feelings, I suppose?"
"Don't I?" he echoed. "Oh, Molly, if you only knew how many!"
"While they last--but they don't last, you know, they have their
seasons. That's the curse of them, or the charm. If they only lasted
earth would be paradise or hell, wouldn't it?"
But generalizations had no further attraction for her.
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