"It is of no use to wish," answered Paul bitterly. "I am always wishing for things I cannot possibly have. I would give anything to stay here. I have grown so fond of you all, and you have all been so kind to me—it is very hard to go, Hermione!"
He looked almost tenderly at the beautiful girl beside him, as he spoke. But she looked down, so that he could hardly see her face at all.
"I have never before felt as though I were at home," he continued. "I never had much of a home, at the best. Latterly I have had none at all. I had almost forgotten the idea when I came to England. It is hard to think how soon I must forget it again, and all the dear people I have known here."
"You must not quite forget us," said Hermione. Her voice trembled a little.
"I will never forget you—Hermione—for I love you with all my heart."
He took her little gloved hand in his, and held it tightly. They stood still in the midst of the lonely park. Hermione blushed like an Alp-rose in the snow, and turned her head away from him. But her lip quivered slightly, and she left her hand in his.
"I love you, my darling," he repeated, drawing her to him, till her head rested for a moment on his shoulder. "I cannot live without you,—I cannot leave you."
What could she do? When he spoke in that tone his voice was so very gentle; she loved him, and she was under the fascination of his love. She said nothing, but she looked up into his face, and her blue eyes saw themselves in his. Then she bent her head and hid her face against his coat, and her small hand tightened convulsively upon his fingers.
"Do you really love me?" he asked as he bent down and kissed her white forehead.
"You know I do," she answered in a low voice.