“No, I am more fit to kneel to you,” he answered mournfully.
But she arose from the great arm-chair, and with gentle force, compelled him to seat himself in it. Then she drew an ottoman forward and sat down at his knees, as she had been accustomed to do in the early days of their betrothal.
“I am so happy to have you here—oh, so unspeakably happy to have you here! I never hoped to be so happy in this world again!” she fervently exclaimed, as she placed her hand in his.
“What a welcome!” he said, as the tears rose to his eyes—his eyes that were all unused to such moisture. “What a welcome, and how unworthy I am to receive it! Do angels always welcome returning sinners so, Erminie?”
“Please do not speak of yourself so to me; to any one else you like, but not to me! I am your betrothed, and I will hear no ill of you, even from your own lips.”
“No, no, Erminie! no, no, you angel girl! I have not come to bind again upon your young life bonds that were well broken years ago! I have forfeited all right to such great happiness! All that is changed!”
“But my heart is not changed,” she murmured in a low tone, and blushing deeply.
“My sweet child! when we were first betrothed I was twenty years older than you; although, being then in perfect health, I did not seem so. And my wealth was great, my social position high, and my name honored. Since that time all is revolutionized with me.”
“But not with me; I am the same,” she murmured.
“Look at me, Erminie! See what time, toil, care, war, grief, pain, remorse have done for me. I am old and gray and broken and mutilated,” he said.