“Once upon a time you were very fond of me, and I have never forgotten you. Mary, I believe you have been constant to that time.”
“In a way, only,” she said, rising suddenly, “I tried my big best to put you out of my mind, and I’ll tell ye no lie, but you would not stir—no, strive as I would, I could not get shut of ye, for three long years. Then I began to think ... I was a fool”—and she paused and put her hand to her long, slim throat—“and if any boy I fancied, had asked me to marry him, I’d have said ‘Yes’; but I never did see one I could like in the same way as you—no one that made my heart ache, and kept me pining and fretting, and wishing I was dead—the same as you did, Mr. Ulick.”
“Ulick!”
“Well, then, Ulick.”
“And I believe people will say it is tremendous presumption to lift my eyes to your father’s daughter. You know I’m only just a major in the service, and he will expect you to make a splendid match.”
“I don’t think he wishes me to marry at all—any way, for a long while. You see, he has only had me for a few months.”
“Yes; it would be hard lines on him—and I will wait, if you will marry me in the end.—Mary, will you?”
“Ye were always terribly set in getting your own way, Mr. Ulick”; and she looked up at him with a tremulous smile. “I remember it with horses, and how once the black hunter stood with ye on the road for five mortal hours—and ye waited, and won the day.”
“I’ll wait on you for five years if necessary. May I speak to your father when he returns?”