Then I went on: "Could
you expect to confine your heart? You say we could have opened
any door--well, tell me, what could we have done, you and I?"
"But that is what I do not think of!" cried Desiree impatiently.
"I would perhaps have placed my hand on your heart, as I do now;
you would perhaps have fought for me, as you have done. I might
even--" She hesitated, while the ghost of a smile that had died
before it reached the light appeared on her lips, as her head was
lowered close, quite close, to mine.
A long moment, and then, "Must I ask for it?" I breathed.
She jerked her head up sharply.
"You do not want it," she said dryly.
I raised my hand, groping for her fingers, but could not find
them. She saw, and slowly, very slowly, her hand crept to mine
and was caught and held there.
"Desiree--I want it," I said half fiercely, and I forgot my pain
and our danger--forgot everything but her white face in dim
outline above me, and her eyes, glowing and tender against her
wish, and her hand that nestled in my hand. "Be merciful to me--I
want it as I have never wanted anything in my life. Desiree, I
love you."
At that I felt her hand move quickly, as for freedom, but I held
it fast.
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