"
"Nay, nay! Oh, no! No! No! Not on you is there one lightest touch,
M'sieu, but on me,--me--me--does rest the weight of all!"
Her eyes were wide and full of tears, and McElroy laid a weak hand on
her head.
"Hush, child!" he said, with some of his old sternness, when
condemning wrong; "there is a fever at your brain. You have come too
long to this dull room--"
"No! No! Take away your hand! Touch me not, M'sieu, for I am as dust
beneath your feet! I alone am at bottom of all that has happened in
Fort de Seviere this year past! Through me alone have come death and
sorrow and misunderstanding! I caused it all, M'sieu, because I--loved
you! For love of you and hope to gain your heart I set you apart from
that woman of Grand Portage!"
She buried her face on the covering of the bed and her voice came
muffled and choking.
"That night at the factory steps,--you recall, M'sieu,--she came to
you,--I saw her in the dusk as she turned at the corner, a rod away,
saw her and knew with some touch of deviltry the sudden way of keeping
you from her, your arms from about her, your lips from hers! Oh, that I
could not bear, M'sieu! Not though I died for it! So I threw my own
arms about your throat--you remember, M'sieu--and whispered that for
one kiss I would go and forget.
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