“Tell me, then,” he gasped, staring at her, “tell me once for all. You do not love me, Helen?”
The girl answered with a frank gaze that was cruel, “No, Arthur.”
“And you can never love me? You take back the promise that you made me?”
“I told you that I was only a child, Arthur; it has been a long time since I have thought of it.”
The young man choked back a sob. “Oh, Helen, if you only knew what cruel words those are,” he groaned. “I cannot bear them.”
He gazed at her with his burning eyes, so that the girl lowered hers again. “Tell me!” he exclaimed. “What am I to do?”
“Can we not remain friends, just as we used to be?” she asked pleadingly. “Can we not talk together and help each other as before? Oh, Arthur, I thought you would come here to live all summer, and how I should like it! Why can you not? Can you not let me play for you without—without—” and Helen stopped, and flushed a trifle; “I do not know quite what to make of you to-day,” she added.
She was speaking kindly, but to the man beside her with his burning heart, her words were hard to hear; he stared at her, shuddering, and then suddenly he clenched his hands and started to his feet.
“Helen,” he cried, “there is but one thing. I must go!”
“Go?” echoed Helen.