"I am glad of it all," he said suddenly and in a louder tone. "I've been made a man, and I've found you, the woman for me. It was hard at the time, but I am glad of it. It has come and it has gone, and I'm glad of it."
He had spoken unwarily in saying it was gone. But she thought he spoke of his struggle only and his hesitation, not of their cause.
"You gave when you might have kept; it is always
yours, Harry. Oh, and what is it all now? No, no, it's something still. It's in us—in us both, I think."
He stopped on the road.
"Come no farther. The fly's only a little way on, and while I see you, I will see nobody else to-night. Till the morning, dearest—and you won't fail?"
"No, I won't fail. Should I fail to greet my first morning?"
He pushed the hair a little back from her forehead and kissed her brow.
"God do so unto me and more also if my love ever fails you," said he. "Kiss me as I kissed you. And so good-night."
She obeyed and let him go. Once and twice he looked back at her as he took his way and she stood still on the road. She heard his voice speaking to the flyman, the flyman's exhortation to his horse, the sounds of the wheels receding along the road. Then slowly she went back.