“Mr Leslie need not speak,” said Louise quietly. “He has shown his sympathy in a way that no words can express.”
Leslie gazed down at the piteous, sorrow-stricken face before him; and, as if wrenching himself away, he walked to the window, and stood gazing out for a few moments while Louise sat watching him, and fighting hard with her emotions. She felt weakened by all that had gone by, and as if, had he extended his arms to her, she could have flown to him, nestled in his breast, and begged him to help her in this terrible strait. And yet all the time her sorrow had strengthened, as well as enfeebled, for she was able to master her weakness, and follow out the course she had planned.
Leslie returned to her side.
“I must speak,” he said hoarsely. “It is not cruelty at a time like this; it is the desire to help, to console, to be near you in distress. Miss Vine—Louise—you—forgive me for saying it—you must have known that for months past I have loved you.”
She looked up at him wistfully, and there was a look of such pain and sorrow in her eyes that he paused, and took the hand which she resigned to him without shrinking, but only to send a thrill of pain through him, for the act was not that of one accepting the offer of his love.
“Yes,” she said, after a painful pause, “I did think that you must care for me.”
“As I do,” he whispered earnestly, “and this is my excuse for speaking now. No: don’t shrink from me. I only ask you to think of me as one whose sole thought is of you, and of how he may help and serve you.”
“You have helped us in every way,” she said sadly.
“I have tried so hard,” he said huskily; “but everything has seemed little compared to what I wished; and now—it is all I ask: you will let this formal barrier between us be cast away, so that in everything I may be your help and counsellor. Louise, it is no time to talk of love,” he cried earnestly, “and my wooing is that of a rough, blunt man; and—don’t shrink from me—only tell me that some day, when all this pain and suffering has been softened by time, I may ask you to listen to me; and that now I may go away feeling you believe in my love and sympathy. You will tell me this?”
She softly drew away her hand, giving him a look so full of pity and sorrow that a feeling akin to despair made his heart swell within his breast. He had read of those who resigned the world with all its hopes and pleasures from a feeling that their time was short here, and of death-bed farewells, and there was so much of this in Louise’s manner that he became stricken and chilled.