"Don't say that. You have nothing to regret. My silence was the price of Garvin's safety, at first, and I knew what the cost would be when I determined to pay it. Later on the fault was mine; but then I found that I had unconsciously been counting upon blind loyalty; yours, and Dick's, and Lansdale's;—counting upon it after I had done everything to make it impossible. I had told Dick in the beginning, and I tried to tell Lansdale. Dick wanted to believe in me,—has wanted to all along, I think,—but Lansdale had drawn his own conclusions, and he made my explanation fit them. It hurt, and I gave place to bitterness."
"And yet you would have saved him for—for—"
"For that which I couldn't have myself. Yes; but you know the motive."
She met his gaze with a new light shining in the steadfast eyes. "I am not worthy," she said, softly; and he went quickly to stand beside her.
"You are worthy; worthy of the best that any man can give you, Constance. How little I have to offer you, beyond a love that was strong enough to stand aside for the sake of your happiness, you know. Ever since that afternoon when you strove with me for my own soul I've been living on your compassion, and it is very sweet—but I want more. May I hope to win more—in time?"
She shook her head, and his heart stopped beating. But it came alive again with a tumultuous bound at the words of the soft-spoken reply.
"You won it long ago, so long that I've forgotten when and how. And it's strong, too, like yours. I've tried hard enough to starve it, but it has lived—lived on nothing."
She was sitting in a low willow rocker, and the distance between them was altogether impossible. So he went down on one knee and put his arms about her; and but for his manhood would have put his face in her bosom and wept.
"Do you really mean that, Constance?" he said, when he had drunk his fill from the deep wells in the loving eyes.
"I do."