“No, it is not your fault.” He stood up, and went on wildly, without looking at me, “But I wish I had died before you came to Durrus! I wish I was in the graveyard out there this minute! I wish the whole scheming, infernal crew were in hell—I wish——”
“Oh, stop, Willy!” I cried—“stop! You are frightening me!”
He had been standing quite still, but he had flung out his clenched hand at every sentence, and his grey eyes were fixed and dilated.
“I don’t know what I’m saying; I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, sitting down again beside me. “I had no right to say that—about wishing I was dead before you came. Your coming here was the best thing ever happened to me in my life. I’ll always thank God for giving me the chance of loving you; and no matter what happens, I always will love you—always—always——”
He caught my hand as if he were going to draw me towards him, but, checking himself, he let it fall with a groan.
“It’s all over now,” he said. “Everything’s gone to smash.”
A rush of wind shivered through the laurels, and shook a quick rattle of drops from the shining leaves.
“Why should it all be over? Why should not it begin again?”
I said it firmly, but it seemed to me as if I were listening to some one else speaking.
“What do you mean?” He stared at me.