And at last they knew each other's stories and were face to
face with the fateful moment of to-day, and he exclaimed gladly:
"My darling, now nothing else matters--we will never, never part again."
Then, as he looked into her eyes, he saw that not gladness but a solemn
depth of shadow grew there, and he clasped both her hands. A cold agony
chilled his whole being. What, O God, was she going to say?
"John," she whispered, all the tenderness of the angels in her gentle
voice as she leaned and kissed the silver threads in his dark hair.
"John, do you remember, long ago when we spoke of Jason and Medea, and
you asked me the question then, Must he keep his word to her even if she
were a witch?--and I told you that was not the point at all: it was not
because she was or was not a witch, but because it was _his
word?_"--Here her voice broke, and he could hear the tears in it, and he
wildly kissed her hands. Then she went on:
"Oh, my dear lover, it is the same question now. _You cannot break your
word._ Nothing but misfortune could follow. It is a hard law, but I know
it is true, and it is fate.
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