"Hardly a day passes," he owned to her, "that I don't think of you." "You shouldn't tell me that!" "How can I see you again--and not tell you ?" She burst out with a last entreaty.

"For God's sake, let us say good-by!" His manner became undisguisedly tender; his language changed in the one way of all others that was most perilous to her--he appealed to her pity: "Oh, Sydney, it's so hard to part with you!" "Spare me!" she cried, passionately.

"You don't know how I suffer." "My sweet angel, I do know it--by what I suffer myself! Do you ever feel for me as I feel for you ?" "Oh, Herbert! Herbert!" "Have you ever thought of me since we parted ?" She had striven against herself, and against him, till her last effort at resistance was exhausted.

In reckless despair she let the truth escape her at last.
"When do I ever think of anything else! I am a wretch unworthy of all the kindness that has been shown to me.

I don't deserve your interest; I don't even deserve your pity.