“Do not reproach me,” she said, sadly. “Gil, dear Gil, I love thee with all my heart, but I could not flee from here while hope remained.”
“And does it remain here?” he said, bitterly.
“Yes, dearest,” she whispered. “My father may repent; Sir Mark may never return. While there is either of those to cling to, I could not go.”
“But, if they were gone, would you come? Tell me quickly.”
There was a dead silence, during which the chirp, as of a bird, was once more heard.
“There is something wrong, sweet, and I must go; but tell me, were both those hopes gone, would you come?”
Again there was silence, and then once more the chirp of the bird.
“Gil,” whispered Mace, with her lips to his ear, “I cannot leave my father while there is hope. If this fails me, on the eve of my wedding-day, come, and I will flee with thee to the great world’s end.”
“Seal it,” he whispered. “Gil!”
“Seal thy promise, sweet,” he whispered. “My arms fail me; I cannot draw thee to my breast. Kiss me, sweet wife, for my wife thou art.”