"Why, yes, it's the whole truth. Let it be the whole truth, Simon. What matters that a man once lived when he's dead, or once loved when he loves no more?"
"Yet I won't tell him more than is true," said I.
"You'll be ashamed to say anything else?" she whispered, looking up into my face.
"Now, by Heaven, I'm not ashamed," said I, and I kissed her hand.
"You're not?"
"No, not a whit. I think I should be ashamed, had my heart never strayed to you."
"Ah, but you say 'strayed'!"
I made her no answer, but asked forgiveness with a smile. She drew her hand sharply away, crying,
"Go your ways, Simon Dale, go your ways; go to your Barbara, and your Hatchstead, and your dulness, and your righteousness."
"We part in kindness?" I urged.