and tenderness, but her
lips were firm and cold.

"You know that I love you."

"Then, oh, my love! how can this come between us? What does it
matter that our fathers fought and killed each other, if only we
love? Surely, surely Heaven cannot fix the seal of this crime upon
us for ever? Speak, Claire, and tell me that you will be mine in
spite of all!"

"It cannot be," she answered, very gently.

"Cannot be!" I echoed. "Then I was right, and you do not love, but
fancied that you did for a while. Love, love, was that fair?
No power on earth--no, nor in heaven--should have made me cast you
off so."

My rage died out before the mute reproach of those lovely eyes.
I caught the white hand.

"Forgive me, Claire; I was desperate, and knew not what I was saying.
I know you love me--you have said so, and you are truth itself; truth
and all goodness. But if you have loved, then you can love me still.
Remember our text, Claire, 'Love is strong as death.' Strong as
death, and can it be overcome so easily?"

She was trembling terribly, and from the little hand within mine I
could feel her agitation. But though the soft eyes spoke appealingly
as they were raised in answer, I could see, behind all their anguish,
an immutable resolve.

"No, Jasper; it can never be--never. Do you think I am not
suffering--that it is nothing to me to lose you? Try to think better
of me. Oh, Jasper, it is hard indeed for me, and--I love you so."

"No, no," she went on; "do not make the task harder for me. Why can
you not curse me? It would be easier then. Why can you not hate me
as you ought? Oh, if you would but strike me and go, I could better
bear this hour!"

There was such abandonment of entreaty in her tones that my heart
bled for her; yet I could only answer--

"Claire, I will not give you up; not though you went on your knees
and implored it. Death alone can divide us now; and even death will
never kill my love."

"Death!" she answered. "Think, then, that I am dead; think of me as
under the mould. Ah, love, hearts do not break so easily. You would
grieve at first, but in a little while I should be forgotten."

"Claire!"

"Forgive me, love; not forgotten. I wronged you when I said the
word. Believe me, Jasper, that if there be any gleam of day in the
blackness that surrounds me it is the thought that you so love me;
and yet it would have been far easier otherwise--far easier."

Little by little my hope was