“I cannot, I will not believe it! He is the noblest of men, and he loves me. You do not know how he loves me. I will not believe you,” she murmured, and he knew his story had found a home. She sank to the seat again and put her hand to her throat, as if choking. Her eyes were upon the strong face above her, and her heart raced back to the hour not far gone when it whispered to itself that she loved the sweetheart of other days.
“Dorothy, do you love me?” he whispered, dropping to her side, taking her hand in his. “Have you not loved me all these days and nights?”
“You must not ask—you must not ask,” she whispered.
“But I do ask. You love me?”
“No!” she cried, recovering herself with a mighty effort. “Listen! I did love you—yes, I loved you—until to-day. You filled me with your old self, you conquered and I was grieving myself to madness over it all. But, I do not love you now! You must go! I do not believe what you have said of him and I despise you! Go!”
“Dorothy!” he cried, as she sped past him. “Think what you are saying!”
“Good-by! Go! I hate you!” she cried, and was gone. For a moment he stood as if turned to stone. Then there came a rush of glad life to his heart and he could have shouted in his jubilance.
“God, she loves me! I was not too late! She shall be mine!” He dashed into the house, but the closing of a door upstairs told him she was beyond his reach. The hall was empty; Mrs. Garrison was nowhere to be seen. Filled with the new fire, the new courage, he clutched his hat from the chair on which he had thrown it and rushed forth into the night.
At the top of the steps he met Prince Ugo. The two men stopped stockstill, within a yard of each other, and neither spoke for the longest of minutes.
“You call rather late, prince,” said Phil, a double meaning in his words.