"But it was no m-murder," he pleaded, "and I'm g-going away, Clo--ah!
won't you let me k-kiss you good-by--just once, Clo?"
"I'd rather--you wouldn't," she whispered.
"Y-your hand, then--only your hand, Clo."
"I'd rather--you didn't!"
Then Ronald Barrymaine groaned and fell on his knees beside her and
sought to kiss her little foot, the hem of her dress, a strand of
her long, yellow hair; but seeing how she shuddered away from him, a
great sob broke from him and he rose to his feet.
"Beverley," he said, "oh, Beverley, s-she won't let me touch her."
And so stood a while with his face hidden in his griping hands.
After a moment he looked down at her again, but seeing how she yet
gazed at him with that wide, awful, fixed stare, he strove as if to
speak; then, finding no words, turned suddenly upon his heel and
crossing the room, went into his bed-chamber and locked the door.
Then Barnabas knelt beside that shaken, desolate figure and fain
would have comforted her, but now he could hear her speaking in a
passionate whisper, and the words she uttered were these:
"Oh, God forgive him! Oh, God help him! Have mercy upon him, oh God
of Pity!"
And these words she whispered over and over again until, at length,
Barnabas reached out and touched her very gently.
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