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naturally enough, the more he avoided her the more she cast herself in
his way. He marveled at this at first, and next it startled him. The
girl haunted him; she hunted him; she happened upon him at all times and
in all places, in the night as well as in the day. She seemed singularly
anxious. There was surely a mystery somewhere.
This could not go on forever. All the world was talking about it. The
duke was beginning to look perplexed. Poor Conrad was becoming a very
ghost through dread and dire distress. One day as he was emerging from a
private anteroom attached to the picture-gallery, Constance confronted
him, and seizing both his hands, in hers, exclaimed:
"Oh, why do you avoid me? What have I done--what have I said, to lose
your kind opinion of me--for surely I had it once? Conrad, do not
despise me, but pity a tortured heart? I cannot, cannot hold the words
unspoken longer, lest they kill me--I LOVE you, CONRAD! There, despise
me if you must, but they would be uttered!"
Conrad was speechless. Constance hesitated a moment, and then,
misinterpreting his silence, a wild gladness flamed in her eyes, and she
flung her arms about his neck and said:
"You relent! you relent! You can love me--you will love me! Oh, say you
will, my own, my worshipped Conrad!'"
Conrad groaned aloud. A sickly pallor overspread his countenance, and
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