s? She stood face to face with--Paul.

Often and often afterwards she wondered how she felt, how she looked and
what she did at that supreme moment? In the retrospect it was all a
mist--a blurred canvas--a confused phantasm.

"_Paul!_"

"_Leonore!_"

An outcry--then a terrible silence; agitation on his part, trepidation
on hers--each alike stupefied, breathless.

And Leonore's heart sank, and her eyelids fell.

Was this _all_? Was this the end? Oh, misery, misery.

Was it amazement alone which had first forced her name from his lips,
and then shut them fast? Was he shocked, perhaps sore that a thing had
happened which he had resolved should never happen? Was it pain,
disgust, horror, she heard in that single involuntary utterance?

Ah, then, she knew what she must do.

Sick disappointment sent a shiver through her frame, and all at once she
felt her limbs totter.

But to fall? To betray emotions which were not _his_ emotions? To be
weak where he was bold and strong? No, a thousand times, no; she drew
herself upright and made a passionate effort.

"Paul, I am--so sorry. I did not know, I never dreamt--of this. Indeed,
indeed I never did. Believe me, oh, do believe me, Paul."

"Believe you, Leo? I do not understand?" He gazed at her, bewildered,
then took a step forward, and she felt him trying to take her hand. She
drew it back hurriedly.

"Wait. Wait a moment. Let me speak. We did not know you were here, we
did not indeed. We have not known anything of you, for a long, long
time. It was only yesterday we, Sue and I, came to this place; and we
can go away again to-morrow--or to-night. We would not trouble you,
Paul."

"Trouble me?" He laughed, a curious laugh, bitter and sweet, scornful
and surpassingly tender. It might have enlightened her, but she was past
listening.

"You will believe, Paul, that we--that to annoy you, to distress
you,--oh, not for worlds, not for worlds. We will go to-night." And she
turned as though to fly on the spot, but he caught her arm.

"Leo?"

She was faintly trying to free herself. The arm went further and held
her fast.

"Can you think," said a voice in her ear, "can you suppose that the
sight of _you_, you who have been with me night and day in dreams, and
thoughts, and hopes, and fears, that this could--what did you call
it?--'annoy' me? Leo, my own, my beloved, don't you, can't you
see--_now_?"

"Paul!"

"You whom I might not love, and yet could not but love?