"Is it that you really—really love me?" questioned Hepworth, searching the honest eyes she lifted to his with a glance half-passionate, half-sorrowful, which brought a glow of blushes to her face.
"Can you ask that now?" she questioned, drooping her head. "Will a good girl take kisses from the man she does not love?"
"God bless you for saying it, darling! Oh, if it could be—if it could be!"
"If what could be, Mr. Closs?"
"That you might be my wife, live with me forever, love me forever."
"Your wife?" answered Clara, pondering over the sweet word in loving tenderness. "Your wife? Are you asking me if I will be that?"
"I dare not ask you, Clara. What would your father say? What would he have a right to say?"
"I'm sure I don't know," answered Clara, ruefully, for she could not honestly say that her father would consent.
"You see, Clara, I have nothing to do but say farewell, and go."