"
Maria Consuelo shook her head.
"Do not speak of it," she said.
"Will you not love me to-morrow?" Orsino asked. The light in his face
told how little earnestly he asked the question, but she turned upon him
quickly.
"Do you doubt yourself, that you should doubt me?" There was a ring of
terror in the words that startled him as he heard them.
"Beloved--no--how can you think I meant it?"
"Then do not say it." She shivered a little, and bent down her head.
"No--I will not. But--dear--do you know where we are?"
"Where we are?" she repeated, not understanding.
"Yes--where we are. This was to have been your home this year."
"Was to have been?" A frightened look came into her face.
"It will not be, now. Your home is not in this house."
Again she shook her head, turning her face away.
"It must be," she said.
Orsino was surprised beyond expression by the answer.
"Either you do not know what you are saying, or you do not mean it,
dear," he said. "Or else you will not understand me.
Pages:
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544