ou have
scraped it against the bars."

"Why have you intrenched yourself against me?" I said, putting my lips
to the little scratch I had made on her arm. "Ah, woe is me! Confound
the bars! Edmee, if you would only bend your head down I should be able
to kiss you . . . kiss you as my sister. Edmee, what are you afraid of?"

"My good Bernard," she replied, "in the world in which I live one does
not kiss even a sister, and nowhere does one kiss in secret. I will kiss
you every day before my father, if you like; but never here."

"You will never kiss me!" I cried, relapsing into my usual passion.
"What of your promise? What of my rights?"

"If we marry," she said, in an embarrassed tone, "when you have received
the education I implore you to receive, . . ."

"Death of my life! Is this a jest? Is there any question of marriage
between us? None at all. I don't want your fortune, as I have told you."

"My fortune and yours are one," she replied. "Bernard, between near
relations as we are, mine and thine are words without meaning. I should
never suspect you of being mercenary. I know that you love me, that you
will work to give me proof of this, and that a day will come when your
love will no longer make me fear, because I shall be able to accept it
in the face of heaven and earth."

"If that is your idea," I replied, completely drawn away from my wild
passion by the new turn she was giving to my thoughts, "my position is
very different; but, to tell you the truth, I must reflect on this; I
had not realized that this was your meaning."

"And how should I have meant otherwise?" she answered. "Is not a woman
dishonoured by giving herself to a man who is not her husband? I do not
wish to dishonour myself; and, since you love me, you would not wish
it either. You would not do me an irreparable wrong. If such were your
intention you would be my deadliest enemy."

"Stay, Edmee, stay!" I answered. "I can tell you nothing about my
intentions in regard to you, for I have never had any very definite.
I have felt nothing but wild desires, nor have I ever thought of you
without going mad. You wish me to marry you? But why--why?"

"Because a girl who respects herself cannot be any man's except with the
thought, with the intention, with the certainty of being his forever. Do
you not know that?"

"There are so many things I do not know or have never thought of."

"Education will teach you, Bernard, what you ought to think about