“I would give much to know that thought,” he said, when she faltered.
“You must not keep silence and run this risk for me,” she said slowly, keeping her eyes upon the ground.
“Am I forgiven the deception I practised?” he whispered.
“Was it not done because you deemed it best for—for all things?”
She had meant to say “for me,” but the words hung on her lips so that she could not utter them.
“For all things, no,” he answered pointedly, “for you, yes; for you only.”
It was sweet hearing. Her heart beat fast and her bosom rose and fell quickly in agitation. But she could not look at him, could not let him see yet how deeply he had stirred her. She had passed one crisis of racking pain when she feared that she had mistaken him; and shrank now from even a chance of misjudgment.
“I believe that,” she said simply after a pause.
“And I am forgiven?” he pressed, eager for her to look at him, that he might read in her sweet eyes the knowledge for which his heart was hungering.
“Yes.” It was a whisper, no more; and still she kept her eyes down.