"Don't say it, Lewis; it isn't true. It can't be true!"
"It is true," he said, with a groan. He had sunk into a chair,
and his face was hidden in his hands. "What are we going to do?"
he said, hoarsely.
"Why, you mustn't be!" she cried; "you can't be--that's all.
You can't STAY if I go!"
"I must stay," he said.
There was a stunned silence. Then she said, in an amazed whisper:
"What! You don't love me any more?"
Still he was silent.
"You--don't--love--me," she said, as if repeating some astounding fact,
which she could not yet believe.
He seemed to gather his courage up.
"I have--" he tried to speak; faltered, broke, went on:
"I have--the kindliest feelings toward you, 'Thalia"--his last
word was in a whisper.
"Stop!" she protested, with a frightened look--"oh, stop!--
don't say THAT!" He did not speak; and suddenly, looking at
his fixed face, she cried out, violently: "Oh, why, why did
I go up to the graveyard that day? Why did you let me?"
She stared at him, her forget-me-not eyes dilating with dismay.
"It all came from that. If we hadn't walked up the hill
that morning--" He was speechless. Then, abruptly, she sprang
to her feet, and, running to him, knelt beside him and
tried to pull down the hands in which he had again hidden
his face. "Lewis, it's I--Tay! You don't 'feel kindly'
to ME? Lewis, you haven't stopped loving me?"
"I am a Shaker," he said, helplessly. "I can't give up my religion,
even for you.
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