She felt capable of throwing
herself at Sidney's feet, and imploring him not to withdraw from her
the love of which he had given her so many assurances. She gazed at
her scarred face until the image was blurred with tears; then, as
though there were luxury in weeping, sobbed for an hour, crouching
down in a corner of her room. Even though his love were as dead as
her beauty, must lib not be struck to the heart with compassion,
realising her woeful lot? She asked nothing more eagerly than to
humiliate herself before him, to confess that her pride was broken.
Not a charge he could bring against her but Bile would admit its
truth. Had she been humble enough last night? When he came again--and
he must soon--she would throw aside every vestige of dignity, lest
he should think that she was strong enough to bear her misery alone.
No matter how poor-spirited she seemed, if only she could move his
sympathies.
Poor rebel heart! Beat for beat, in these moments it matched itself
with that of the purest woman who surrenders to a despairing love.
Had one charged her with insincerity, how vehemently would her
conscience have declared against the outrage! Natures such as hers
are as little to be judged by that which is conventionally the
highest standard as by that which is the lowest.
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