'She should hate me! you should!' said Christian. His face was scared.
'You can make ample amends—oh! ample; and Rhoda will count the wants of her youth blessed that shall lay the rest of her days to your keeping. She will—Christian, are you so blind?—she will.
'Ah, dear lad! I got so well contented that the wife had had her way and had taken you, when I saw what the just outcome should be; and saw her shaping in the dark towards the happy lot of the sweet little slip she ignored. Long back it began, when you were but a little chap. Years before you set eyes on her, Rhoda had heard of you.
'In the end I could fit out no plan for you to light on her; and a grubby suitor was bargaining for her, so I had to make a risky cast. She was to enter as a passing stranger I had asked to rest. The wife fell on her neck, before a word. Well, well, what poor fools we had both been!
'Christian, why do you say No?'
'I wish her better.'
'But she loves you! I swear she loves you! And I, O good Lord! I have done my best to set her affections on you. How shall I lie still in the grave while her dear heart is moaning for its hurt, and 'tis I that have wrought it.'
To a scrupulous nature the words of Giles brought cruel distress. Christian's eyes took to following Rhoda, though never a word of wooing went to her. In the end he spoke.
'Dear Rhoda,' he said, and stopped; but instantly she looked up startled. His eyes were on the ground.
'Rhoda, I love you dearly. Will you be my wife?'