"Did you know that night what was in my heart to say to you?"
There was no answer.
"May I tell you now?" he asked, giving a side glance at her profile, which in the moonlight showed very white.
"Do you think you ought?" she answered in a low voice, "or that I ought to listen to you?"
"I know," he exclaimed. "You think that as a married woman you should not listen, and that knowing you to be one I should not speak. If it were to ask anything of you I would not. It is for the first and last time. To-morrow we part again, and for all time, I suppose. I have carried the words that were on my lips that night all these years in my heart. I know I can have no response—I expect none; but it can not harm you if I tell you that I loved you then, and have——"
She put up her hand in protest.
"You must not go on, Mr. Lenox," she said, turning to him, "and I must leave you."
"Are you very angry with me?" he asked humbly.
She turned her face to the sea again and gave a sad little laugh.
"Not so much as I ought to be," she answered; "but you yourself have given the reason why you should not say such things, and why I should not listen, and why I ought to say good-night."