“And so do I!” cried the girl. “But then I am different.” There was a slight pause, and she went on thinking of what he had just told her. “Then I was wrong when I said you had not worked—why, you helped to save the ship that stormy night, Mr. Stuart!”
Stuart smiled as he moved nearer and held out his hand.
“There is the mark of the cut from one of the ropes. Now, you will give me credit for some good, Margery?”
The girl took the hand between her own two small brown ones. She bent her head to look at the scar, while, at the touch of her fingers, Stuart felt his whole being thrill and the last barrier that stood between himself and his love melt away.
“Yes—yes, I see,” Margery said, gently. “Oh, Mr. Stuart, what pain you must have suffered!”
She raised her luminous eyes to him, their blue depths darkened almost to blackness at the thought of that terrible night at sea, and met the steady, passionate gaze bent on her. Some new sense flooded her mind; in one second all her girlish innocence vanished; she knew that she was on the brink of a great wondrous event, though she could not guess what it was. She dropped Stuart’s hand, and rose hurriedly.
“It is getting late; we must go,” she declared. “Mother will want me.”
Stuart at once moved to her side. He took the sunbonnet from her hand, and imprisoned the small fingers within his own.
“Margery,” he said, softly, “is mother the only one who wants you? Will you not stay with me? Ah, my darling,” he cried, bending to catch her other hand and seeing the trembling lips and great, wondrous, startled eyes, “I have frightened you! You do not know—how could you?—how much you have become to me. Margery, I did not mean to speak yet—I meant to wait, and let your love grow; but your sweet face has urged me, and I can wait no longer. Margery, my own darling, I love you! Do you love me?”
Margery felt herself drawn into his strong arms. She looked up at him for one instant, then said softly: