"If he'd only known how I'd loved him," she sobbed again, "he'd have
said one kind word to me before he went, have kissed me, perhaps, once;
but no, not a look nor a sign! Oh! Isaac, Isaac! I shall never see
you more!"
What--what? What was it choking me? What was it that sent what blood I
had left gushing up in a dizzy cloud over my eyes, so that I could only
gasp out once the one word "Lizzy!" as I started to my feet, and stood
staring at her in a helpless, half-blind fashion; for it seemed as
though I had been mistaken, and that it was possible after all that she
had been crying for me, believing me to be dead; but the next moment I
was shrinking away from her, hiding my wounded face with my hand for
fear she should see it, for leaping up, hot and flush-cheeked, and with
those eyes of hers flashing at me, she was at my side with a bound.
"You cowardly, cruel, bad fellow!" she half-shrieked; "how dare you
stand in that mean deceitful way, listening to my words? O, that I
should be such a weak fool, with a stupid, blabbing, chattering tongue,
to keep on kneeling and crying there, telling lies, every one of them,
and--Get away with you!"
I think it was a smile that was on my face then, as she gave me a fierce
thrust on the wounded arm, when I staggered towards her. I know the
pain was as if a red-hot hand had grasped me; but I smiled all the same,
and then, as I fell, I heard her cry out two words, in a wild agonised
way, that went right to my heart, making it leap before all was blank;
for I knew that those words meant that, in spite of all my doubts, I was
loved.
"O Isaac!" she cried, in a wild frightened way, and then, as I said, all
was blank and dark for I don't know how long; but I seemed to wake up to
what was to me then like heaven, for my head was resting on Lizzy's
breast, and, half mad with fear and grief, she was kissing my pale face
again and again.
"Try--try to forgive me for being so cruel, so unfeeling," she sobbed;
and then for a moment, as she saw me smile, she was about to fly out
again, fierce-like, at having betrayed herself, and let me know how she
loved me. Even in those few minutes I could read it all: how her
passionate little heart was fighting against discipline, and how angry
she was with herself; but I saw it all pass away directly, as she looked
down at my bleeding face, and eagerly asked me if I was very much hurt.
I tried to answer, but I could not; for the same deathly feeling of
sickness came on again, and I saw nothing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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