love me, how could you
help it?"

The reason sprung to her lips, but maiden pride and shame withheld it.
What could she tell except that she had cherished a passion, based only
on a look. She had deceived herself in her belief that Moor was but a
friend, might she not also have deceived herself in believing Warwick
was a lover? She could not own this secret, its betrayal could not alter
her reply, nor heal Moor's wound, but the thought of Warwick
strengthened her. It always did, as surely as the influence of his
friend always soothed her, for one was an embodiment of power, the other
of tenderness.

"Geoffrey, let me be true to you and to myself," she said, so earnestly
that it gave weight to her broken words. "I cannot be your wife, but I
can be your dear friend forever. Try to believe this,--make my task
easier by giving up your hope,--and oh, be sure that while I live I
cannot do enough to show my sorrow for the great wrong I have done you."

"Must it be so? I find it very hard to accept the truth and give up the
hope that has made my happiness so long. Let me keep it, Sylvia; let me
wait and work again. I have a firm belief that you _will_ love me yet,
because I cleave to you with heart and soul, long for you continually,
and think you the one woman of the world."

"Ah, if it were only possible!" she sighed.

"Let me make it so! In truth, I think I should not labor long. You are
so young, dear, you have not learned to know your own heart yet. It was
not pity nor penitence alone that brought you here to comfort me. Was
it, Sylvia?"

"Yes. Had it been love, could I stand as I am now and not show it?"

She looked up at him, showed him that though her cheeks were wet there
was no rosy dawn of passion there; though her eyes were as full of
affection as of grief, there was no shy avoidance of his own, no
dropping of the lids, lest they should tell too much; and though his arm
encircled her, she did not cling to him as loving women cling when they
lean on the strength which, touched by love, can both cherish and
sustain. That look convinced him better than a flood of words. A long
sigh broke from his lips, and, turning from her the eyes that had so
wistfully searched and found not, they went wandering drearily hither
and thither as if seeking the hope whose loss made life seem desolate.
Sylvia saw it, groaned within herself, but still held fast to the hard
truth, and tried to make it kinder.

"Geoffrey, I once he