sping voice, but to live through, as if it had been
her own dream, had made her more conscious than ever that it was Tito
who had first brought the warm stream of hope and gladness into her
life, and who had first turned away the keen edge of pain in the
remembrance of her brother. She would tell Tito everything; there was
no one else to whom she could tell it. She had been restraining herself
in the presence of her father all the morning; but now, that
long-pent-up sob might come forth. Proud and self-controlled to all the
world beside, Romola was as simple and unreserved as a child in her love
for Tito. She had been quite contented with the days when they had only
looked at each other; but now, when she felt the need of clinging to
him, there was no thought that hindered her.

"My Romola! my goddess!" Tito murmured with passionate fondness, as he
clasped her gently, and kissed the thick golden ripples on her neck. He
was in paradise: disgrace, shame, parting--there was no fear of them any
longer. This happiness was too strong to be marred by the sense that
Romola was deceived in him; nay, he could only rejoice in her delusion;
for, after all, concealment had been wisdom. The only thing he could
regret was his needless dread; if, indeed, the dread had not been worth
suffering for the sake of this sudden rapture.

The sob had satisfied itself, and Romola raised her head. Neither of
them spoke; they stood looking at each other's faces with that sweet
wonder which belongs to young love--she with her long white hands on the
dark-brown curls, and he with his dark fingers bathed in the streaming
gold. Each was so beautiful to the other; each was experiencing that
undisturbed mutual consciousness for the first time. The cold pressure
of a new sadness on Romola's heart made her linger the more in that
silent soothing sense of nearness and love; and Tito could not even seek
to press his lips to hers, because that would be change.

"Tito," she said at last, "it has been altogether painful, but I must
tell you everything. Your strength will help me to resist the
impressions that will not be shaken off by reason."

"I know, Romola--I know he is dead," said Tito; and the long lustrous
eyes told nothing of the many wishes that would have brought about that
death long ago if there had been such potency in mere wishes. Romola
only read her own pure thoughts in their dark depths, as we read letters
in happy dreams.

"