‘But a spy I am not. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. He had been gone entirely one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. I’ve had a headache all day. ” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. The kiss was powerfully moving.
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