Rowland.—You will know and believe that it was Miss Gwynne, Freda, the woman, not the heiress, that I have loved so long and so well.
Freda.—I am no longer an heiress; you are far the best off.
Rowland.—I am most thankful. Had this wide park still been yours, I could never have said what I have dared to say to-day; but let me repeat once more your words that I may remember who I am—a farmer's son, your father's tenant.
Freda.—A clergyman, a gentleman, and a Christian.
Rowland.—My brother-in-law a—a—felon.
Freda.—Yourself not changed by your brother-in-law's crimes.
Rowland.—If then in the course of another year our present painful position should be forgotten, or at least, at rest, when I am established at the rectory as rector, when I can come forward on my own responsibility, when, in short, I can say without compunction all I now feel, may I hope?'
Freda.—Then as now, you may be certain.
They were on the steps before the door of the house; again their hands were firmly clasped.
Rowland.—Till then, farewell, and God bless you.