But when he
drew near her he put out his hand.
"I cannot!" he repeated, shaking his head and turning away.
Still she waited, and when he approached and was turning away
again, she stepped forward and laid on his arm her quivering
finger-tips.
"You must," she said. "You _shall_ tell me!" and if there was
anger in her voice, if there was anguish in it, there was the
authority likewise of holy and sovereign rights. But he thrust her
all but rudely away, and going to the lower end of the pavement,
walked there backward and forward with his hat pulled low over his
eyes--walked slowly, always more slowly. Twice he laid his hand on
the gate as though he would have passed out. At last he stopped
and looked back to where she waited in the light, her face set
immovably, commandingly, toward him. Then he came back and stood
before her.
The moon, now sinking low, shone full on his face, pale, sad, very
quiet; and into his eyes, mournful as she had never known any eyes
to be. He had taken off his hat and held it in his hand, and a
light wind blew his thick hair about his forehead and temples.
She, looking at him with senses preternaturally aroused, afterwards
remembered all this.
Before he began to speak he saw rush over her face a look of final
entreaty that he would not strike her too cruel a blow. This, when
he had ceased speaking, was succeeded by the expression of one who
has received a shock beyond all imagination. Thus they stood
looking into each other's eyes; then she shrank back and started
toward the house.
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