"Thank you." As she drew back he caught her hand and held it, and his words came fast and passionately. "No. That is not all. That is not half. That is not one-thousandth part of what I ought to say. I know it. Thank you? My whole life is not enough to thank you with. All the words I ever heard or know are not enough—the best of words mean so little. And they never do come to me when I want them. But those little words of yours are more to me than all the world beside. I do thank you with all my strength, with all my heart, with all my soul, and I will live for you with all three. Why should I say it? You know it all, dear, much better than it can be said, for you believe in me. But it is good to say—I wish it could have been half as good to hear."
She had listened to each word and looked for each passing expression while he spoke. She looked one moment longer after he had finished, and then turned quietly away.
"It is good to hear—if you only knew how good!" she said softly. "And words are not always empty. When they come from the heart, as ours do, they bring up gold with them—and things better than gold."
CHAPTER XII.
A long silence followed. Neither of them, perhaps, realised exactly what had passed, or if they did, actual facts seemed very far away from their dreamland. Marion was the first to feel again the horror of the situation, tenfold worse than before he had last spoken.
"Oh, I cannot bear it!" she said suddenly. "I cannot bear it now—as I could. Really alive, after all—and this story to-day? Have you found out nothing? Have you nothing more to tell me?"
"Yes, there is something to tell you."
"What?"
"Bad news."