"Why do not you speak?"
"I have nothing to say, Cherry."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing. I have said all I can. I might promise never to grieve you again; might promise all sorts of beautiful things; but you know—and I know—that something stronger than mere love of you, dear, must do the work, and that the work must be done, whether you ever love me again or not. I believe I did not know I could be tempted—and I have been left to find it out. If I tell you that I have sworn unto the Lord and will not go back, it is not to plead my cause with you, Cherry; but because I know that just for old-time's sake, your dear heart will always care that your old playmate should grow into a man and not a beast."
"Oh, Magnus!" she cried, in that same sudden way.
"Well, that is what it amounts to. That was what I called myself next morning. And then with the joy of getting home and among you all again—and the wonder of seeing what you had grown into—everything else went out of my head. I was so eager to have you that I took it for granted you would have me. Then I remembered that for two whole years you had seen nothing of me, and the more I loved you the more that thought kept coming up. So then I gave you the whole story, and lost all I care for in this world. But it had to be done—and I should do it again. You needn't look at me so, dear, and try to hide how you feel. You could not help being disgusted. I do not blame you in the least, Cherry."
"Oh, Magnus!" she cried again. "How can you use such words about me?"
"What words shall I use? You were disgusted, and you know it."
"No, oh, no!"
"What then? Choose your own words, and tell me."