The man lay silent for a moment, then a rush of emotion, struggling for expression, swayed him and he spoke, while his eyes were turned resolutely from her.
“I’ll tell you, Amanda! I’ve been a fool not to recognize the fact long ago that I love you.”
“Oh!” There was a quick cry from the girl. But the man went on, impelled by the pain of losing her.
“I see now that I have always loved you, even while I was infatuated by the other girl. You were still you, right there when I needed you, ready to give your comfort and help. I must have loved you in the days we ran barefooted down the hills and looked for flowers or birds. I’ve been asleep, blind--call it what you will! Perhaps I could have taught you to love me if I had read my own heart in time. I took so much for granted, that you’d always be right there for me--now I’ve found out the truth too late. Lyman told me--I hope he’ll make you happy. Perhaps you better go now. I’m tired.”
But the request fell on deaf ears.
“Lyman told you--just what did he tell you?” she asked.
“Oh,” the man groaned. “There’s a limit to human endurance. I wish you’d go, dear, and leave me alone for a while.”
“What did Lyman tell you?” she asked again. “I must know.”
“What’s the use of threshing it over? It brings neither of us happiness. Of course he told me about the engagement, that you are going to marry him.”