He had fallen in love with an innocent, unsophisticated girl; he was
still more passionately in love with her now that, a girl still in
years, she had developed into glorious, divine womanhood. His eyes
scanned her face hungrily, yet reverently, as he thought: Was it
possible that he had once kissed those beautiful lips, had once heard
them murmur "I love you?" And was it possible that he might again hear
those magic words? His soul thirsted for them. It seemed to him that if
he were to lose her now, if she were to send him away, life would not be
worth having, that nothing remained for him in the future but misery and
despair. To few men is it given to love as he loved the girl before him,
and in that moment he suffered an agony of suspense which might well
have caused the recording angel to blot out the follies of his past
life.

But he must not frighten her, he must not drive her away from him by
revealing the intensity of his passion.

So his voice was calm, and so low that it was little more than a
whisper, as he said: "I have come in search of you; I have something to say that I hope, I
pray, you will hear. Won't you sit down again?" and he motioned to the
place where she had been seated.