“My dear, you know why I have come hither,” said Wesley, taking her hand in both of his own. “You asked for my counsel once, and I gave it to you. I could only give it to you at that time in a general way. I had not seen the man to whom you had given your promise; but having seen him, and knowing what manner of man he is—and I am something of a judge of a man's character—I feel that I would be lacking in my duty to you, dear child, if I were to refrain from coming to you to plead for—for your own happiness.”
“Have I forfeited all your esteem by my behaviour, sir?” she cried, still holding his hand and looking at him with piteous eyes. “Do you think of me as a light-minded girl, because I confessed to you—all that I did confess?”
“I have never ceased to think of you with affection,” he said.
“Ah! the affection of a man who is esteemed by all the world, for a poor girl who touched the hem of his life, and then passed away never to be seen by him again.”
She spoke in a curious tone of reproach. He looked at her, asking himself what she meant.
“Child, child, you little know how I have thought of you,” he said slowly. “Do you believe that the path of my life has been so gilded with sunshine that I take no count of such hours as we passed together when we walked through the valley, side by side—when we sat together on the cliffs?”
She gave a little cry of joy and caught up his hand and kissed it.
He was startled. He turned his eyes upon her. She was rosy red. Her head was bowed.
In that instant he read her secret.
There was a long silence. Only occasionally a little sob came from her.