"
Crying, she hid her face against my neck, murmuring sadly between
her sobs: "Never--never!"
How strange it seemed, in that moment of joy, such a passion of
tears, such despondent words!
For some minutes I preserved a sorrowful silence, realizing for
the first time, so far as it was possible to realize such a
thing, what my inability to understand her secret language meant
to her--that finer language in which alone her swift thoughts and
vivid emotions could be expressed. Easily and well as she seemed
able to declare herself in my tongue, I could well imagine that
to her it would seem like the merest stammering. As she had said
to me once when I asked her to speak in Spanish, "That is not
speaking." And so long as she could not commune with me in that
better language, which reflected her mind, there would not be
that perfect union of soul she so passionately desired.
By and by, as she grew calmer, I sought to say something that
would be consoling to both of us. "Sweetest Rima," I spoke, "it
is so sad that I can never hope to talk with you in your way; but
a greater love than this that is ours we could never feel, and
love will make us happy, unutterably happy, in spite of that one
sadness.
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