"You love me?" she repeated mechanically.
"Yes, I love you—I love you!" he repeated wildly. "Haven't you seen it, haven't you felt it all along?"
The color fled from her cheeks. Her lips trembled. The crucial moment which she had dreaded had arrived at last.
"If you love me," she said, with a forced smile, "you have a curious way of showing it. You know that all my hopes centered on that signal-fire, and yet wilfully, deliberately, you destroyed it. If you love me, why did you do that?"
"Because," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I was afraid that some ship might see the blaze and come and take you away. I love you so much that I'd stop at nothing. You are the first woman I've ever loved. You don't know what that means to me. When a man of my age loves for the first time, the force of his passion frightens him. These last two days and nights I have purposely avoided you. I have tried to control and master myself. I have tried to forget you, to banish you from my thoughts. All last night I tramped through the woods, trying to persuade myself that it was an impossible dream, that such happiness could never befall such a poor devil as I. But I could not—I could not. In each tree I saw your dear face, in every sigh of the wind I heard the plaintive sounds of your sweet voice. Then, suddenly, I caught sight of the blaze on that hill. Instantly I felt it was my enemy. I knew that if a ship came I would lose you. I realized that it would mean the end of my happiness. Maddened by the thought, I was seized by a sudden fury. I ran all the way up to the top of the hill and trampled it out. Can't you understand that I don't want to lose you, that I don't want you to go?"
Grace listened, her face flushed. When he ceased speaking, she said gently:
"Any woman would feel pleased and honored at what you say. You have been very kind to me. I shall never forget what I owe you. I am deeply grateful. I shall always remember you." Hesitatingly she added: "It may be that you are right—that a ship will never come—what then? What do you want me to do?"
"To—to be my wife!" he replied quickly and eagerly.
Grace gasped. She was not without a sense of humor and the incongruity of the situation was at once apparent to her. Really he went too far. He was making her a serious proposal of marriage. This sailor, fireman, stoker, or whatever he might be, was actually asking the heiress to millions, one of the prizes of New York's matrimonial market—to be his wife! It was too absurd. Only the grave, pleading expression in Armitage's face deterred her from laughing outright. If any of her set in New York heard of it, they would chaff her without mercy.
"How handsome he is!" she murmured to herself as she looked at him. "What a pity we are not social equals!"