Page:Helen Hunt--Ramona.djvu/494

488 knew all. “Felipe! My brother!” she cried, and stretched out her hands as if in warning.

“No! I am not your brother!” he cried. “I will not be your brother! I would rather die!”

“Felipe!” cried Ramona again. This time her voice recalled him to himself. It was a voice of terror and of pain.

“Forgive me, my sweet one!” he exclaimed. “I will never say it again. But I have loved you so long—so long!”

Ramona's head had fallen forward on her breast, her eyes fixed on the shining sands; the waves rose and fell, rose and fell, at her feet gently as sighs. A great revelation had come to Ramona. In this supreme moment of Felipe's abandonment of all disguises, she saw his whole past life in a new light. Remorse smote her. “Dear Felipe,” she said, clasping her hands, “I have been very selfish. I did not know—”

“Of course you did not, love,” said Felipe. “How could you? But I have never loved any one else. I have always loved you. Can you not learn to love me? I did not mean to tell you for a long time yet. But now I have spoken; I cannot hide it any more.”

Ramona drew nearer to him, still with her hands clasped. “I have always loved you,” she said. “I love no other living man; but, Felipe,”—her voice sank to a solemn whisper,—“do you not know, Felipe, that part of me is dead,—dead? can never live again? You could not want me for your wife, Felipe, when part of me is dead!”

Felipe threw his arms around her. He was beside himself with joy. “You would not say that if you did not think you could be my wife,” he cried. “Only give yourself to me, my love, I care not whether you call yourself dead or alive!”