"My letter! My letter!"
"Hermione!"
His heart spoke in his voice, and he made a step forward in the
darkness.
"Don't!"
The voice had changed again, had become sharp, almost cutting. Like
the lash of a whip it fell upon him. And he stopped at once. It seemed
to him as if she had cried out, "If you dare to give me your pity I
shall kill you!"
And he felt as if just then, for such a reason, she would be capable
of such an action.
"I will not--" He almost faltered. "I am not--coming."
Never before had he been so completely dominated by any person, or by
any fate, or by anything at all.
There was again a silence. Then he said:
"You are strong. I know you will be strong now. You can't go against
your nature. I ought to have realized that as I have not realized it.
I ought to have trusted to your strength long ago."
If he had known how weak she felt while she listened to him, how her
whole being was secretly entreating to be supported, to be taken hold
of tenderly, and guarded and cared for like a child! But he was a man.
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