"Why, I thought you knew! You can't have heard--about me," she said.

"I have heard, I know all," he exclaimed, taking a step forward and
standing over her. "Forgive me, darling! forgive me for being almost glad
when I heard that you were free, and not married out of my reach. I can't
think of anything except that I've found you. It is you, isn't it? It is
you. I don't care what's happened to you, if it is only you."

As he spoke in this vehement, fiery way, she had been regarding him with
an expression of faint curiosity. "I believe you do really mean it," she
said, wonderingly, lingering over the words; "you always were a queer
fellow."

"Mean it!" he exclaimed, kneeling before her, his voice all tremulous
with the hope which the slightly yielding intonation of her words had
given him. "Yes--yes--I mean it."

The faint ghost of a smile, which only brought out the sadness of her
face, as a taper in a crypt reveals its gloom, hovered about her eyes.

"Poor boy!" she said; "I've, treated you very badly. I was going to make
an end of myself this afternoon, but I will wait till you are tired of
your fancy for me. It will make but little difference. There! there!
Please don't kiss me."




CHAPTER VIII.