“Do you mean it?”
“Certainly I mean it.” As she spoke these words her eyes filled with tears, in spite of all the efforts she could make; but he was not looking at her, and her efforts had sufficed to prevent any sob from being audible.
“With all my heart,” he said; and it was manifest from his tone that he had no thought of her happiness as he spoke. It was true that she had been angry with him—angry, as she had herself declared; but nevertheless, in what she had said and what she had done, she had thought more of his happiness than of her own. Now she was angry once again.
“With all your heart, Captain Broughton! Well, so be it. If with all your heart, then is the necessity so much the greater. You go to-morrow. Shall we say farewell now?”
“Patience, I am not going to be lectured.”
“Certainly not by me. Shall we say farewell now?”
“Yes, if you are determined.”
“I am determined. Farewell, Captain Broughton. You have all my wishes for your happiness.” And she held out her hand to him.
“Patience!” he said. And he looked at her with a dark frown, as though he would strive to frighten her into submission. If so, he might have saved himself any such attempt.
“Farewell, Captain Broughton. Give me your hand, for I cannot stay.” He gave her his hand, hardly knowing why he did so. She lifted it to her lips and kissed it, and then, leaving him, passed from the summer-house down through the wicket-gate, and straight home to the parsonage.