"
"No: it is only pity, because you think I want to stay, and because--
No, I will not have it! I will not hear it! You are quite wrong, Mr.
Burroughs: you do not know"--
She stopped in confusion. She had done sobbing now; but she did not
uncover her face, or look up. Mr. Burroughs regarded her with a
strange expression, and then, taking her hand, said softly,--
"Dora, I have not dared, as you fear that I have, to fancy that you
cared for me. A moment ago, I should not have dared to ask you as I
now do; and remember, Dora, that I ask for the solemn truth,--do you
love me?"
Dora tore away her hand indignantly, and attempted to rise. She had
not spoken, or looked at him. Over the pale face of the lover shot a
gleam of triumph. But he only said,--
"Dora, it will not be like you to leave me in this way. It is unjust
and untrue."
"It is you who are unkind and ungenerous," said the girl
passionately.
"Why, Dora? Why is it ungenerous to ask for a confession of your
love, when I have already told you that all my heart is in your
hands?"
"You fancied that I-that I-liked you; and you knew I did not want to
go home, and you pitied me: and I won't have it, sir. I do not need
pity, and I do not"--
Her voice died away, killed by the falsehood she could not speak.
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