It did not
occur to him that what she had done and said might be the outpouring of
her despair, and that even a faint hope of ever possessing him as her
husband might have operated as a restraint for modesty's sake. Therefore,
with unconscious perversity, Hamilton resented what Frances had done in
giving him her unmeasured love when she knew that she could not give
herself, and he spoke from the midst of his pain:--
"I know that I am not worthy to be your husband. Even had you not taken
so great pains to tell me, but had been willing to wreck your life by
marrying me, I should not have accepted the sacrifice. From the first, my
love for you has been the one unselfish impulse of my life, and since I
have almost lost hope of ever being worthy of you, I should not have
permitted you to share my wretched life, even had you been willing. But
for you to come to me and to give me your love, only to snatch it back
again before I have had time to refuse the sacrifice, is cruel."
"I do not snatch my love back again," she answered pleadingly. "I could
not if I would. I have given it to you for life, and it is beyond recall.
It is yours forever and forever--all of which my poor aching heart is
capable. Would you rather it had lain in my breast unspoken, through all
the long years I have to live? You say your love is unselfish--"
"If there's anything unselfish in me," interrupted Hamilton.
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