"Don't go yet, Kate," he said. But he felt that she must go.
An early day was fixed for her return; and his summer would go with her.
The day before her departure they were walking together along one of the rough parish-roads leading to the hills.
"Oh, Kate!" exclaimed Alec, all at once, in an outburst of despair, "what shall I do when you are gone? Everything will look so hateful!"
"Oh, Alec!" rejoined Kate, in a tone of expostulation.
"They will all look the same as if you had not gone away!—so heartless, so selfish!"
"But I shall see you in November again."
"Oh, yes. You will see me. But shall I see you?—this very you? Oh, Kate! Kate! I feel that you will be different then. You will not look at me as you do now. You are kind to me because I have been ill. You pity me for my white face. It is very good of you. But won't you love me, Kate? I don't deserve it. But I've read so often of beautiful women loving men who did not deserve it. Perhaps I may be worthy of it some day. And by that time you will have loved somebody else!"
He turned involuntarily, and walked towards home. He recovered himself instantly, however, and returning put his hand on Kate's arm, who was frightened and anxious. Like a child praying to his mother, he repeated:
"Won't you love me, Kate?—Just a little?—How can I go into that room after you are gone—and all your things out of it? I am not good enough ever to sleep there again. Won't you love me, Kate? A little?"