Perhaps her penitential moods were the most bewitching--certainly they
were the most dangerous--of all her many phases.
"You know why I come to the bridge, even though I do not," said Max.
"Tell me, Fraeulein, why I come."
"That is what you may tell me. I came to hear it," she answered softly,
hanging her head.
"I may not speak, Fraeulein," he replied, with a deep, regretful sigh.
"What I said to you on the road from Basel will be true as long as I
live, but we agreed that it should not again be spoken between us. For
your sake more than for mine it is better that I remain silent."
Yolanda hung her head, while her fingers were nervously busy with the
points of her bodice. She uttered a low laugh, flashed her eyes upon
him for an instant, and again the long lashes shaded them.
"You need not be _too_ considerate for my sake, Sir Max," she whispered;
"though--though I confess that I never supposed any man could bring me
to this condition of boldness."
Max caught her hands, and, clasping them between his own, drew the girl
toward him. The top of her head was below his chin, and the delicious
scent from her hair intoxicated his senses. She felt his great frame
tremble with emotion, and a thrill of exquisite delight sped through
every fibre of her body, warming every drop of blood in her veins. But
Max, by a mighty effort, checked himself, and remained true to his
self-imposed renunciation in word and act. After a little time she drew
her hands from his, saying:--
"You are right, Max, to wish to save yourself and me from pain.
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