She must believe
him; it had lain dormant and grown in his heart since the very first time
he met her. He had fought and struggled to keep his feelings within
bounds; but it was true--such a struggle was not very effective. It was
too sweet to yield, and so one yielded. One fought on with a steadily
slipping grip. And now the end had come; he could not fight any more, he
was entirely disarmed.... "I believe my breast will burst asunder."...
Still leaning away from him, she had turned her face and was gazing at him
while he spoke. Her hands had ceased their ineffectual efforts and were
now resting on his, tightly clasped around her waist; she saw the blood
leap through the veins along his throat. She straightened up and sat
erect; his hands were still around her, but she did not seem to notice it
now. She seized her gloves and said with quivering lips:
"But, Irgens, you should not say such things to me. You know you
shouldn't. It is sad, but I cannot help it now."
"No, you are right; I don't suppose I ought to have said it, but--" He
gazed at her; his lips were trembling too. "But, Miss Aagot, what would
_you_ do if your love made you weak and powerless; if it robbed you
of your senses and blinded you to everything else? I mean--"
"Yes, but say nothing more!" she interrupted.
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