That is not right, when you do not trust me.

You cannot help loving the touch of my hand, Mercy,"-- and a certain sad pride lighted Stephen's face at the thought of the clinging affection which even now stirred this woman's veins for him,--"any more than you can help having ceased to trust me.

If the trust ever comes back, then"-- Stephen turned his head away, and did not finish the sentence.

A great silence fell upon them both.

How inexplicable it seemed to them that there was nothing to say! At last Stephen rose, and said gravely,-- "Good-by, Mercy.