He had told her that others accused her, but that
he had not suspected her. He had not suspected her, but he had thought
it necessary to search, and had found in her possession that which had
made her guilty in his eyes!
She would never see him again--never willingly. It was not only that he
would never forgive her, but that she could never now be brought to
forgive him. He had stabbed her while her words of love were warmest in
his ear. His foul suspicions had been present to his mind even while
she was caressing him. He had never known what it was to give himself
up really to his love for one moment. While she was seated on his knee,
with her head pressed against his, his intellect had been busy with the
key and the desk, as though he were a policeman looking for a thief,
rather than a lover happy in the endearments of his mistress. Her vivid
mind pictured all this to her, filling her full with every incident of
the insult she had endured. No. There must be an end of it now. If she
could see her aunt that moment, or Lotta, or even Ziska, she would tell
them that it should be so.
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