"What,—you mean—I am not sure that I understand—"
"Don't you see, Marian, feeling as I did, and knowing how out of the question it was for a penniless man like me, to think of marrying,—Agnes so young too, and I with everything to draw me to what had been my only home,—there was nothing to be done but to keep out of the way, to guard me against myself; and that was easier with seas between. I don't know whether I did right or not, but I hoped I did, because it cost me something; yet it was a forsaking of Gerald which might have done much harm, though I hope it has not, as it has turned out."
"I see it all!" said Marian, resting there, because she had not a word with which to express her honour of his noble conduct.
"You will forgive me now," he added, with a smile, "for what you thought my neglect of home."
"I am only afraid I must often have given you a great deal of pain," she almost whispered.
"Never, except when I thought it right to silence you. It was only too delightful to hear their very names. You might well tell me that she had grown prettier than ever."
On talked and walked the cousins, over the downs, which had certainly never been trodden by happier people. At last they recollected that they must return, if they wished to be in time for the post, and retraced their steps, talking as eagerly as ever. As they were coming near the house, Marian said, "Does Gerald know?"
"Not yet; I shall write to him to-morrow."
"Is it to be a secret? Of course I should say nothing about it while you are here, but may I mention it afterwards?"
"They said nothing about secrecy," said Edmund; "in fact I think attempting it, only results in making one look foolish. Yes, you are welcome to tell whom you please as soon as I am out of the way. I had rather the Lyddells know."