"Sweet!" he cried. "I have told you how I love you. I couldn't choke it down longer. And you forgave me, and pitied me a little. You must let me hope and pray for the right man, since 'tis impossible I can ever be anything to you." Grace was silent, and he continued.
"I've learned better since that moment. I'm not a fool. My love at least is too big a pattern to offer it to you again."
"Can a man love a maid too much then?" she exclaimed.
"He may love too little and so offer himself. I love—there, my love's all of me. But who am I to dare to lift eyes to you?"
"'Tis just that, John," she said with a fluttering heart. "Who are you?"
"Until 'tis known——"
"What difference can that make? Can a fact not known alter a fact known? Mr. Norcot taught me that much. Facts never contradict themselves, he said once; and the fact is—you love me. If a king was your father, you still love me; and you are you—honest and true, and generous. And—and you've got a dear face like my dead brother's."
He stared in front of him, and Grace mused over his virtues.
Suddenly he spoke.
"You'll make me mad again!" he cried. "I ought to spur away for dear life, and for honour and right; I ought to turn my back and gallop to the ends of the world; but I can't—I can't do it—more shame to me."